


Parallel Jump

by Mistflyer1102



Category: GoldenEye (1995), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Both the Craig!Bond and Brosnan!Bond, Humor, M/M, Parallel Universes, Two Bonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1311325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistflyer1102/pseuds/Mistflyer1102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q gets sent to another universe and meets a parallel James Bond.  </p><p>Except that James doesn't seem to know who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Q’s head _hurt_.

He lay still on the ground for a few minutes, grimacing as he felt a twinge of pain in his ribs— _how far did he fall?_ —before he reached around for his glasses, which had fallen off at some point. Rolling onto his side, he rubbed his temples before feeling around in the dark, the last few memories before the unexpected fall coming back to mind as he scraped his palm on loose gravel.  He distinctly remembered being in the bowls of MI6 with R and Marcela, the three of them planning to tackle the hard copy archives and digitize them on an isolated server at M’s request.  He and R had been discussing budget adjustments when he thought he’d heard his partner’s voice among the stacks, and told R and Marcela to start without him so he could go ward off a potential prank.  Calling softly for James Bond, he swore it was him he heard, he’d instead tripped on something in the dark, and then fell.

Where he landed here.

He didn’t even know that MI6 had a basement lower than the archival rooms.

Q’s fingers closed around one of the lenses, and he was relieved to find that his glasses were intact.  Sitting up, he gingerly rubbed the lenses clean with the edge of his cardigan and then slipped them on, silently cursing James _and_ the darkness.  “R! Marcela!  Can you two hear me?” he shouted, looking up and seeing nothing.

Unnerved, he glanced around as his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness.  “James!  _James,_ are you down here? I heard you earlier…” he shouted, only for his words to taper to an end when he realized that they were echoing around him as though he were in a tunnel.  Shaking his head, he sighed and rolled his shoulders back, instantly regretting the action when his ribs protested the movement.

_Medical first.  James second._

Gingerly stepping forward, he walked slowly, keeping his hands out to stop himself from walking into something harmful.  It didn’t take long for him to notice a sliver of what looked like navy, a shade lighter than the _black_ he was surrounded by.

“James, I swear to God, if this is your idea of a _joke_ , M’s idea of mercy is going to be hilariously _tame_ compared to what I’m going to do to you!” he muttered to himself as he hurried towards the color, feeling a breath of _fresh air_ as he placed his hands against what felt like rotting wood.  He gritted his teeth and _pushed_ , nearly stumbling forward as the wood immediately gave way and pitched him forward into the night air.

Confusion growing, he shivered as he looked around the foreign city, feeling like he’d stepped out into an episode of the _Twilight Zone_. Studying the spires and the surrounding buildings, he got the sense that he was somewhere in Russia, but that made _no_ sense as he was damn sure he woke up that morning in London.  Glancing back, he found that the tunnel he’d just stepped out of was apparently nothing but a solid rock wall with Cyrillic graffiti.

_Definitely Russia._

Wishing he’d spent more time learning Russian, Q turned and walked slowly forward, keeping his shoulders hunched forward and head down.  He had no concept of the time or date, and knew that his best bet of safety would be a hotel, which would have a phone and a medical kit because he needed paracetamol for his ribs.

Keeping a hand close to his side, Q gingerly pushed open the door to the nearest building, exhaustion and the dull pain keeping him from full-out panicking. The lobby seemed hotel-like, and he prayed that he was somewhere that could at least offer shelter for the evening, long enough for Q to gather his wits and figure out what the _hell_ was going on.

The hotel lobby was quiet and mostly deserted when he entered, a man behind the front desk looking up with little interest as Q approached him.  He raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat as Q stopped in front of the desk, and Q knew pretty well what he most likely appeared to the man as.  “Excuse me, I’m looking for someone, I don’t know if you’ve seen him, but perhaps you’ve heard _of_ him?” he said carefully as to not jar his ribs further.

“What’s the name?” the man asked in a thick accent, pulling open a book.

Q hedged his bet here.  “James Bond,” he said, figuring that there had to be reason why he was in Russia. “Which city is this?”

The man paused, arching an eyebrow at him. “Drink much already?” he asked finally.

“No, got jumped in the street,” Q said, gesturing to his ribs.  “I, uh, hit my head pretty hard upon impact.”

The man nodded absently as he turned through the pages of the book.  “Is Mr. Bond expecting you?” he asked, finally looking up at Q, who tried to conceal his surprise.

“Uh, yes, he is. Tell him that it has to do with his trip here, he’ll understand,” Q said, hoping his lying wasn’t as bad as it sounded to him as he watched the man reach for a phone behind him. “Thank you.”

The man nodded as he dialed.  “And who should I tell him is here?” he asked, glancing warily back at Q.

“His cousin,” Q promptly replied.

The man nodded. “I can see the family resemblance,” he said before going back to the phone, causing Q to furrow his brow in confusion.  He looked up when there was a sound of a door opening, and then promptly set the phone back into the cradle.  “Ah, just the man I wanted to see,” he said as a dark-haired unfamiliar man entered the lobby, blue eyes darting between the two of them.  “Mr. Bond, this gentleman says he’s your cousin and has something to do with your trip here to St. Petersburg,” he said as the dark-haired man paused, brow furrowing as he studied Q with a confused expression that Q knew mirrored the one on his face. 

_Wait, what? This isn’t James Bond._

“Well, thank you for hanging onto him for me, he always does wander off,” the man— _Bond_ , Q could never think of this stranger as ‘James’—said amiably before gesturing for Q to follow him. “Where did you find him?” he asked, pausing to look back at the man behind the desk.

“Said he got jumped in the street and fell.  Can’t even remember what city he’s in,” the man said, shaking his head in dismay. “Better keep a better eye on him.”

“Of course.” Bond gently nudged Q ahead of him, guiding him through a door and into a narrow, dimly lit corridor.  Q relaxed infinitesimally as Bond directed him towards the nearby lift at the end of the hall.  He still had no idea what was going on, still suspected that _his_ James was attempting an extremely elaborate prank, and when Q caught him there was going to be-

_Slam!_

_“Fuck_ , what the hell was that for?” Q nearly screeched when Bond unexpectedly slammed him against the corridor.  He nearly froze instinctively when the gun was pressed against his temple, but indignation won over and he scowled at Bond.

“Did Janus send you?” Bond asked coldly, keeping firm pressure on the gun.  “Who sent you?”

 _This isn’t James, this isn’t James._   Gritting his teeth, Q squirmed in Bond’s grip even as his heart rate skyrocketed with the ominous _click_ of the hammer. “No one sent me,” he blurted out, eyes pressing closed as he desperately wished himself out of this nightmare. “Oh God, nobody sent me, I just heard your name somewhere and thought you could help me get medical treatment,” he said, trying to rein in his terror long enough to _lie_ convincingly and get out of this godforsaken mess alive.

“Where did you hear my name?”

Q swallowed, an idea coming to him.  “In an alley, I was looking for something to eat when I heard two people talking about you… that they had to keep something from you,” he said, drawing back on what he could remember of his James’ missions.  Hoping that Bond would mistake his pounding heart for fear of death instead of lying, he added, “I thought…I thought, you know, enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that.”

Bond silently regarded him.  “What did you used to do?” he asked finally.

 _Showtime_. “Low-level programming for Janus’ organization,” Q lied, heart thudding into overtime as he used the name Bond had mentioned earlier. He forced himself to meet Bond’s gaze.  “Janus _did not send me_ , I left voluntarily because pay was horrible and they were killing people…”

“Does that mean you’ll be able to track down the missing Russian satellite, Goldeneye?” Bond asked, looking interested for the first time since their meeting.

 _No, of course not.  Who the fuck loses a satellite?_ “Yeah, I’m fairly confident that I can,” he said, sounding more sure of himself than he certainly felt.

For one horrible moment, he genuinely thought that Bond would shoot him anyway; the agent’s expression hadn’t changed throughout Q’s ‘confession’. Then he felt the gun move away from his head as the agent released his shoulder and let him go. “You’re lucky that I’ve been looking for a way into Janus’ organization, or we wouldn’t be here discussing this,” he said, slipping the gun back into the holster.  He stepped back and gestured for Q to follow him. “Shall we?”

Q nodded mutely, wondering what the hell he’d just gotten himself into. He hoped he could keep up the act of the terrified low-level programmer long enough for some kind of rescue.


	2. Chapter 2

“Take a seat, and don’t touch anything.”

Q made a face when he heard Bond close the door, feeling a weird sense of reversed déjà vu given that _he_ was used to telling James not to touch anything.  He obediently sat down at one of the few chairs near a desk, silently taking in the small hotel room as Bond knelt by the bedside and reached underneath for an object. Q tilted his head thoughtfully as he watched Bond; the other man seemed different yet the same to the James that Q worked with.  Both men had the invisible weight of great personal loss on their shoulders, yet Bond seemed… _lighter_ , in a strange way that made no sense to Q at all.  Something about the mood.  Looking away, he turned his attention back to the desk, where there was a case, an old desktop computer, and a ballpoint click pen.

“You know, you have me at a disadvantage.  What is your name?” Bond asked casually as he pulled out a briefcase and set it on the bedspread.

“Alex Winfield, from London,” Q said, keeping it short and simple; explaining the Q moniker ran the risk of getting slammed into the wall again, and Q needed Bond’s cooperation in order to survive so he could figure out how to fix the mess he was in. “Do you happen to have any medication?” he asked, ribs aching as he reached for the pen out of curiosity.

“Yes, in the cabinet that’s also the mirror in the loo,” Bond replied as he opened the case and pulled out a spare gun.  “And don’t touch that, I’d rather that we still had a hotel room left by the end of the evening,” he added without looking up, and Q’s hand froze millimeters from the pen.

“Ah, duly warned.” Q leaned back and gingerly stood back up, eyeing the pen as he crossed the room to the nearby door.  Entering the room, he easily located the cabinet in question and took his time in getting the painkillers; he needed to reassess his way out of here.

He slowly exhaled, leaning his forehead against the cold mirror.  He was in St. Petersburg, miles from London, in a still-unknown year, and already caught in the middle of a MI6 mission against the Russian mafia.  At least he assumed that Janus was part or perhaps a branch of the mafia, he couldn’t think of any other independent criminal groups other than Quantum and Silva’s former empire, the latter of which had acquired a successor not too long after the Spaniard’s death.  Bond most likely didn’t trust him, but evidently was desperate enough to hire a random programmer—and one he thought to be the enemy—to hack into Janus’ networks and find a missing satellite.  Any background story would have to remain close to the truth, yet remain obscure enough for Bond to be disinterested in checking it.

It was one thing to run a mission.  It was a completely different thing to participate in a mission blind.

Taking a paracetamol, Q straightened his dusty cardigan but remembered to keep his shoulders slumped forward a bit, aware that his usual assertive posture would draw Bond’s attention.  He’d have to worry about getting back home once he managed to escape Bond, staying around wasn’t an option.  He’d run enough of his James’ missions to remember how the agent played the role expected of him. Q slowly released a breath, calming himself down before turning and leaving. 

Bond had powered up the (ancient on Q’s personal standards) computer, and glanced up when Q re-entered the main room.  “How is it that a low-level programmer such as yourself left London and ended up working for Janus?” he asked conversationally as Q approached him.

“I stuck my nose into the wrong computer at the wrong time.  Lackeys showed up a few days later, and offered good money for programming work,” Q replied as Bond indicated for him to sit down.  “There were a bunch of us, working on parts of different strands of coding,” he explained as a blue screen appeared with a mostly empty desktop “No one ever told us what we were working on.” He watched as Bond checked a gun before handing it over to Q. “I, ah, don’t know anything about Janus except that he’s Russian, sorry,” he added, hoping that his guess matched with whatever information Bond had on Janus.

“He’s also a Lienz Cossack, so the satellite theft may be out of revenge,” Bond said, reaching over Q to pull up what looked like a database.  “It’s a little known fact about him, but my contact figured it out and passed the information along.”  He glanced at Q and asked, “Are you familiar with that story?”

Q nodded, recalling when he’d first come across the term in a file of one of his agents. Choosing to lie yet again, he said, “One of my, uh, colleagues mentioned it once.  Disappeared a week later.  We, ah, never saw him after that,” he said, picking up the offered gun.  Turning it over in his hands, he said, “Dare I ask what I’ll be shooting?”

“More like whom. Anyone other than me, especially if it’s a woman,” Bond said, catching Q off guard.  “You might actually recognize her, Xenia Onatopp. She’s one of Janus’ right hands, and he must know by now that I’m after him.”

“How would he know that?” Q asked warily, wondering how the hell he was going to recognize Onatopp.  Reminding himself that he’d run missions on less, he forced himself to relax and turned to the computer as Bond secured the connection.

“Oh, I told one of his rivals about a potential heist, and he contacted,” Bond said calmly as he gestured to the screen.  “Reconnect to Janus’ network and locate Goldeneye.  Once you do, figure out how Janus controls it, and then disrupt whatever connection he may have with it,” he said, glancing down at Q. “I know you don’t have a lot of experience at hacking, but give it your best.”

Q nearly bristled at the agent’s words— _how the hell do you think I got my job in the first place?_ —but instead offered a thin smile. “I’ll do my best,” he said, subconsciously resting his hand at his side as though to pull out his MI6 ID, usually clipped to his belt, to prove a point.  His fingers instead grasped empty air.

He’d had it that morning.

It took all of his self-control _not_ to react to the unexpected loss.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit…_

“Let me know the moment you find something,” Bond said, standing up and walking away towards the bed again.

Q blinked, and started to turn around when he heard Bond starting to strip, and he promptly turned back to face the computer, the tips of his ears reddening from embarrassment with the close call.  “Where will you be?” His voice shook slightly, and he prayed that Bond would mistake it more for nerves from the task than either embarrassment or fear.

“Swimming. It’s been a bit of a long day, and that was _before_ you showed up,” Bond replied amiably.  “When you find something,” he said, appearing abruptly at Q’s side to grab a nearby towel, “Do not come looking for me, I’ll be back in an hour.”

“An hour, right.” Q silently gauged that if he took a shortcut through the Russian defense networks—something he actually knew how to _locate_ —he could cut off search time by at least fifteen minutes. Goldeneye would have records in the networks, codes that he could use to trace through individual administrators’ networks and see if one of the generals stole the satellite, he honestly wouldn’t put it past one of them to do it… if not, then he could simply use the code and networks to-

“All right, I’ll leave you to it then,” Bond said even as Q leaned forward and began the setup into the defense network.  Q vaguely heard Bond leave, turning his focus into the brute attack into the networks.

He lost track of time; the firewalls around the Russian security networks were easier to crack through compared to what he’d been doing in his four years at MI6 after Skyfall.  Q leaned back in his chair as he focused on locating the satellite in question, or at least facility that should have been controlling it.  He wondered what Goldeneye’s function was, that would make it appealing to a Lienz Cossack seeking revenge if Bond’s theory was correct.

Q shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he waited for one of his usual hacks to finish processing and let him into the networks.  He only knew of one Lienz Cossack, or at least an agent with the bloodlines, at MI6.  He didn’t know how much of this… universe? Was he stuck in a parallel universe? Whatever it was, he hadn’t met the parallel of the agent in question, but he didn’t plan on it much, given that the whole Bond had to be a coincidence… and nothing else.

Rooting around in the networks, he found nothing of note right away.  He did note that some old Soviet facilities still clung to existence, and red-flagged them for this universe’s MI6’s further perusal. He did pause when he came across the name of _Arkady Ourumov_ ; the general apparently in charge of Russia’s defense, and the phrase ‘ _Goldeneye—one survivor of attack’_ had been highlighted in his file.  Frowning, Q moved to dig deeper into Ourumov’s files.

_Beep!_

Q frowned, glancing in the corner of the screen to notice a warning that someone was hacking _him._   And not from the defense network either…the signal did not look of Russian origin…

Humming to himself, Q decided to take a risk and let the signal through his computer’s firewall; once established, he would have a two-way connection with the other hacker, a connection he could use to go back to the other hacker and then take care of the other man so he could get back to work.  He did put up a bit of a fight, so that the other hacker wouldn’t sense the trap, swearing softly underneath his breath when the other hacker got through faster than he’d anticipated.

Then he pounced.

While the other hacker wreaked havoc on his system, Q used their connection to follow the digital trail, all the while wishing he had his laptop so he could determine the other hacker’s location.  Once he was in the system, Q made his move.  Using the Goldeneye code he’d found in the defense networks, he tried to search the alien system for any sign of the missing satellite.

His jaw nearly dropped when he found the matching satellite codes.  He’d found Goldeneye.

But he still had no idea _where_ it was.

Breathing calmly through his nose, Q leaned forward and executed a very simple command, one of the first ones he’d ever learned.  It was also the most frequent command he used, especially on ornery Double-Os who refused to turn in their equipment intact or expense reports on time.

He logged the other man out of his own computer and promptly locked the computer down.

Goldeneye was temporarily safe.

Q leaned back in his chair, grinning broadly as he noticed that the other hacker was now gone. Taking his glasses off, he rubbed the bridge of his nose while smiling triumphantly.  He truly was the best hacker in the world.

“Bond, get this,” he said when he heard the hotel room door open.  “I found Goldeneye, and I locked the other hacker out of the system.  Hopefully I bought you enough time to find it,” he added as he heard footsteps approaching. “How was the swim?” he asked, glancing at the clock, realizing with a jolt that a little more than an hour had passed.  “Did you-”

 _Snikt_.

A jolt of horror went through his system when he recognized the sound of a knife or club coming out of a sheath.  Q tried to bolt from his chair, escape before the inevitable attack all while berating himself for _not checking that it was Bond_.

A sharp blow to the back of the head, and Q’s world went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Q slowly came back to awareness some indeterminable time later.

The first thing he became aware of was the gentle, rhythmic rocking sensation accompanied by a soothing rumble.  It took him a few minutes to ascertain that no, the rumbling was not of aerial origin and yes, he was still moving in a transport.  His head still ached, more so in the back where the attacker had hit him, but he hoped he could perhaps use his abilities as a hacker to bargain with his captors; it was likely someone trying to get to Bond rather than MI6, and the fact that their hacker was locked out of his system would work well in Q’s favor.  The person who had knocked him out had heard him admit as much, and Q suspected that the satellite would be his biggest bargaining chip in the next hour or so.

_I can do this, I can do this._

Swallowing back the wave of nausea as he moved, Q slowly lifted his head, noting with mild surprise that he was on a bed rather than shoved into a corner of a dark, damp room or compartment.  He was in a neat and tidy room, eerily reminiscent of a hotel room, with light green painted walls and very few framed landscape pictures.  Confused, he turned and stared at the bottle of paracetamol sitting innocently on the bedside table.  His glasses lay neatly folded next to the bottle

_Where the hell am I?_

Wondering if perhaps Bond managed to catch up and rescue him, and this was the agent’s idea of an escape; Q gingerly rubbed his temples before reaching for his glasses and slipping them on.  He sat up on the comfortable bed, on top of the blankets, and remained still for a few moments longer as he tried to get his bearings and assess his current physical state: other than the headache, he suspected that he was otherwise fine, intact, and _alive_.  Bracing himself on the bed, it took him a few seconds to realize that the constant, rhythmic clacking sound came from below was one he’d heard before.

A train.

And not the Eurostar either, it was more like one of the trains that he and James once took on holiday in the Italian countryside about a year ago.  Gingerly standing up, he crossed the room to the covered window and lifted the curtain aside long enough to register the blurred countryside; wherever the train was going, they were either in a hurry or the country was flat enough to allow for speed.  Q couldn’t remember enough Russian history to pinpoint this exact moment in time based on the train, and he’d stupidly been too focused on the bloody satellite to pay much attention to the date when rooting around in the Russian defense networks—he just knew it was not too long after the end of the Cold War, but no definite dates.

He glanced back at the bed, and did a double take when he realized that there was a neatly folded stack of clean clothes on the edge.  For a moment, he wondered if he imagined getting whacked in the back of the head or the injury was severe enough for him to be hallucinating. He glanced down at himself, noting that he was still wearing the same cardigan ensemble that he’d been wearing when this nightmare started.  Shaking his head, he returned to the bedside table for the paracetamol bottle and dry-swallowed two, hoping it would be enough to tide him over to the next time he got hit in the head.

The clean clothes were still there.

Q got the very odd sensation that he was either safe, or was receiving first-class treatment from terrorists.  He knew it had happened before—Silva’s successor, Joaquin Ramirez, once treated James like an esteemed visitor in an attempt to convince James to switch sides—but Q hadn’t expected his own captors to treat him the same.  Especially if it was Janus’ men that had him, Q knew that the Russian leader was most likely enraged at the loss of his satellite, and Q had confessed as much to the crime.

_What the hell is going on?_

Deciding to ignore the clothes, he headed to the door, scowling faintly when he found that it was locked.  Q tugged uselessly on the door handle before turning around, looking frantically for anything that could remotely pass off as a lock pick or even a paperclip.  He had no idea how much time he’d spent in Russia, since it was now daylight compared to the night he’d arrived in. He checked the window in the off chance that it was unlocked, but found it bolted shut.  Trying to stamp down the rising panic, he turned and headed to the bedside table, searching for a drawer, hidden catch, a key, _anything_ that could get him out of the train car.

 _Creeeak_.

Q flinched at the sound of the door opening behind him, and turned around, backing away as far as he could until the back of his legs hit the bed, sending him backwards. An older man wearing a distinctive, gray-green and red Russian military uniform stood there, flanked by two masked guards both dressed in black.  The man silently gestured for the two guards to precede him before he too walked in, hawkish eyes studying Q as he shut the door behind him. “Admittedly, when I was informed that we lost control of our satellite to another hacker, I wasn’t expecting to find a skinny, British whelp a long ways from home on the other end,” he said, crossing the room before coming to a stop just out of Q’s reach.

Q slowly sat up, doing his damndest to bite back his sharp, indignant reply.  Twice now, he’d been labeled as incompetent (and even after sealing Janus out of his own computer systems), and it galled him that he had to maintain the cover of an anonymous hacker.  He frowned for a moment, wondering where he’d seen the man’s face before.  Shaking his head, he took a steadying breath and squared his shoulder.  “Admittedly, when I was informed that I was going up against a terrorist, I hadn’t expected a stereotypical, aging nostalgic traitor who can’t even maintain control of his own weapons,” he replied, hating the slight shaking in his voice.

Instead of being offended as Q hoped, the man merely smiled, the sight matching up with the photo of Arkady Ourumov that Q had seen in the Russian defense networks. “I’ll do you a favor and tell Janus that you’d meant no harm at calling him ‘aging’ and ‘stereotypical’, he has done his best to outshine his competitors,” Ourumov replied, tilting his head as Q silently grimaced at the error.  “Although he might appreciate your sharp wit all the same even though he is still vexed at the loss of Goldeneye. You are already more cooperative than our other guest.” 

 _Oh, fuck_.

Q stiffened as Ourumov signaled to the guards, gesturing towards Q before retreating to the door. It took him a moment to realize that not only was there another prisoner on the train, but also an uncooperative one at that.  Bond? Did Bond get captured as well? Keeping an eye on the guards, who were drawing closer, Q asked, “What makes you think that I am already more cooperative than the other prisoner?”

“Well, for one, she’s still unconscious from our little trip through St. Petersburg and while she may be a programmer, Janus’s current programmer informed him that she is not any good with computers,” Ourumov said casually as both guards stood on either side of Q and grasped his shoulders, forcing him to stand.  “Meanwhile, here you are, a child in MI6 employ, and you managed to lock out our programmer while still being on the other side of the world.  Skills like that do not go unnoticed.” 

“Maybe it’s because I’m _not_ a child and have been doing this work for years now?” Q suggested sarcastically as the guards moved their grip to his upper arms.  He gritted his teeth when the one on his right side dug strong fingers into his skin in warning, but Q remained stubbornly silent.

Ourumov narrowed his eyes at Q for a moment.  “I hope you are quite aware that the only reason you’re alive and receiving excellent treatment is because you have Janus’s blessing for now,” he warned. “One misstep, and MI6 will receive your corpse soon enough in a body bag.  Janus rarely allows for witnesses to live as it is, impress him enough and you may just live.” 

Q bristled. “All I have to do is either hold out until rescue or I feel strong enough to give Janus the slip,” he snapped, jerking his arm away in an attempt to free himself from the right guard’s painful grip. He grimaced when the man’s fingers only dug in even more, and forced himself to breathe in and out slowly in an attempt to lessen the growing ache.

“Did you honestly think that James Bond would come save you?” Ourumov asked, arching an eyebrow, his words catching Q off-guard.  “He did not even bother to save his close friend nine years ago, what makes you any different to him?”

Q stared at him, momentarily forgetting that they were talking about the parallel Bond, not his James.  His James most likely would never find out what happened, hell, even Q didn’t know what happened. Worst-case scenario would be that James would retreat into himself again before moving on, especially once MI6 officially declared Q dead and promoted R to quartermaster. James had moved on from tragedy before, he could certainly do it again. Q, meanwhile, knew he’d most likely end up on some unwritten list of James’s doomed lovers, another name on a sheet somewhere to be placed away and eventually forgotten.  His only regret was that he’d caused James more pain; especially after he’d assured James early on in their relationship that he wouldn’t leave him behind.

 _I’m sorry, James_.

Looking down so that Ourumov couldn’t see how close he’d struck a nerve, Q calmly inhaled before looking up at Ourumov.  “What makes you so sure that it’s James Bond that I’m expecting rescue from? And on that note, what makes you so confident that MI6 hired me?” he asked, careful to keep his voice steady as he made eye contact with Ourumov.  “After all, I could be an independent freelancer with regular clients who would be rather… angered at the loss of such an asset.”

Ourumov took a step forward, as though to strike him.  Q held his ground, determined not to allow the Russians to push him around; he held the advantage, and they both knew it.  Then, as though reconsidering the motion, he gestured for the guards to move.  “Janus will decide your fate… brat,” he snapped, the last part disappearing into a mutter as the guards nudged Q forward, releasing his arms so that he could walk unaided.

Rubbing his arms where the guards’ hands had manhandled him, Q followed Ourumov down the corridor to the doors between cars.  He felt a twinge of sadness in his chest when he recalled Ourumov’s earlier words about Bond— _He did not even bother to save his close friend nine years ago_ —and wondered if Bond had been unable to save Alec Trevelyan from an early death.  His James, he knew, was still close to Alec, the two were nearly inseparable, and he honestly couldn’t imagine the immediate fallout if one or the other were to abruptly die on the field.

The car they entered was an ornate dining car that had one table and one other occupant. The woman dressed in black sat on padded seating behind an empty chair opposite Q, and watched in silence as Ourumov sat Q down at the dining table opposite her.  Q tried not to look at her, out of a trained respect he maintained for adrenaline-high Double-Os who had just recently returned home, but he reflexively looked up when she coughed.  Flushing at the victorious smirk on her face, Q looked down at his empty plate, wondering if it was for show or if Janus planned to bribe him with food.  He took a few deep breaths to calm down, deciding to treat the strange woman as he would one of his own Double-Os; she was similar to 009 in appearance, but most likely possessed 004’s temper.  He glanced to the side at a flicker of movement, and watched carefully as Ourumov sat down in an empty chair on the other side of the car, confusion flickering across his features as he glanced around and noticed that the car was empty except for them.

The woman noticed the movement as well.  “The female programmer woke up, he’s been asking her a few questions,” she said, her strong Russian accent catching Q slightly off-guard.  “He’ll be back in a few moments, especially since he knows our… guest woke up recently,” she said, turning back to Q, fingers flexing as she studied him.

Q swallowed, but then reminded himself that she was nothing but an adrenaline-high Double-O agent.  He could handle this. “Well, as it happens, I will not be going anywhere any time soon,” he said, gesturing to the two guards behind him.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him.  “You will not speak unless spoken to,” she snapped, hand moving for something at her side.  Q flinched, only slightly, but fought to regain his composure even as his heart thudded in his chest. He was pathetically unarmed, and he didn’t think that the guards would raise a hand to help him, orders or not. _Double-O, pretend she’s a Double-O, you know how to handle Double-Os…_

“Now, now, Xenia, please don’t frighten our guest.  We do have a few requests to ask of him after all,” came an unexpected, sickeningly familiar voice as the door to the car opened and the owner stepped through.

Q, despite the unspoken order to remain still, reflexively twisted around in his seat to see the newcomer.

 _Fuck_.


	4. Chapter 4

_Fucking hell_.

Q didn’t even realize that his mouth was hanging open until Janus leaned over with a smile and closed it with a finger. “I trust that you are well?” Janus asked as he moved to sit down at the table across from Q. The painfully familiar expression, even when marred with burn scars, still reminded Q of a certain predator, especially since he was used to seeing this expression seconds before the intended victim died.  He’d also enjoyed the relative safety of being behind the security camera at the time, which left him feeling exposed now.

Q nodded carefully, gauging Janus’s benign mood before he spoke.  “I am better now, still a little displeased about getting hit in the back of the head.  It was too much, too soon after hitting my head earlier that night,” he said, careful to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“Ah, my apologies.  I did tell Xenia Onatopp to be careful with any of Bond’s associates that happened to be present,” Janus said as a man appeared with tea and coffee.  Gesturing to the drinks, he asked, “Do you have a preference?”

Q eyed the tea suspiciously, aware that he did want it but he also knew that he couldn’t trust Janus either.  Offering what he hoped was a polite smile, Q said, “Thank you, but I must decline this time.”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, leaning back in his seat even as Q cringed at having gotten caught. “If anything, you have the advantage here,” he said, quirking a painfully familiar half-grin; Q found that he couldn’t look Janus in the eye without his thoughts wandering at the same time.  “Besides,” he added after a moment as he narrowed his eyes to scrutinize Q further, “You’re more useful to us alive than dead at the moment

 _Definitely not drinking it now_.  _Could still be drugged._ “Even if I did not have such an advantage, as you claim, I would still be on my guard,” Q replied evenly. “I can’t imagine that you are pleased at the loss of control, a satellite is quite a hefty thing to lose since you went through quite a bit of trouble to steal it in the first place, if what I heard was true,” he added, trying to steer the conversation that would prompt Janus to mention either where the satellite was or his intentions with it, two things that Bond didn’t seem to know either.

“That depends, of course, on what you heard and from whom you heard it.  Bond is what I like to call a ‘unreliable narrator’, he has a flair for the dramatics,” Janus replied dryly as he accepted the coffee and set the tea down in front of Q anyway.  “Case and point would be that he chased Ourumov through the streets of St. Petersburg with a tank.”

Q stared at him. “A _tank_?” he repeated, wondering what the hell Bond had been thinking with that one. More importantly, how had he gotten his hands on one?

“Couldn’t bear to leave his current lady in my hands, apparently.” Janus shrugged before he said, “But that’s neither here nor there.  What matters now is what I should do with you,” he said, tilting his head at Q, who resisted the urge to shudder; it was unnerving, being under a semi-familiar gaze.  “I don’t even know your name, and I suspect that Bond doesn’t know either.”

Q gave him a thin smile.  “How else was I supposed to convince Bond not to shoot me in the forehead when we first met?” he asked testily.

“Clearly not by showing him this,” Janus said, reaching into his dark jacket pocket. Q tensed until Janus pulled out a slim card and casually tossed it across the table, landing it neatly on the plate in front of Q.  Frowning, Q raised an eyebrow at Janus before looking down at the card.

And nearly threw up on the spot when he recognized his missing MI6 ID card.

He stared at it for a few moments before looking up at Janus, who looked strangely triumphant. “Where did you find this?” Q asked, looking up as he tried to think.  _I can still salvage this, I can still salvage this…_

“In the streets of St. Petersburg, as we were preparing for our rendezvous with Bond,” Janus replied, glancing back at Onatopp, who nodded once in confirmation. “While it’s a good replica, you’ll have to show me how to do that, you also forgot that Q is an old man stuck in the Cold War era.   Good try, but you need to do a little research before you try to impersonate MI6 staff,” he said, offering a patronizing smile.

“He says to the man who locked his programmer out of the system,” Q replied, forcing a smile even though he felt a sudden urge to smack that smile off Janus’s face. While his identity as his MI6’s quartermaster worked in his favor so long as it remained a secret, he was starting to get tired of people constantly underestimating him.

“Yes… speaking of that, this inevitably means that I’ll have no choice but to bring you onsite, once we take care of Bond once and for all,” Janus said, eyes narrowing but smile remaining in place

 _Onsite?_  “Uh, this doesn’t involve a plane, correct? I don’t do well with flights,” Q said nervously as he felt his guards reach for his shoulders.

“Of course it does, but don’t worry.  You’ll be in first class with me, and I’m sure we can find… mutual grounds on the flight over,” Janus replied, wiping his mouth with the corner of a napkin. Q swallowed nervously before giving into the impulse to look away as Janus added, “I’m especially curious to find out how you hacked us that fast.”

“Your programmer hacked me, and connections are a two-way street.  He’d need to establish a link to my computer, enabling me to trace back the connection to his computer.  I lock people out of their own computers anyway when I’m especially annoyed with them, so doing it to him was simply practice,” Q said, glancing out the window.  He glanced at Janus, and said, “I get easily annoyed when I’m dealing with challengers.  I’ll give your programmer credit for putting up a decent fight, but what I did to him was one of the first tricks I’ve ever learned when it comes to hacking.”

Janus raised an eyebrow.  “Is that so? I suppose I couldn’t entice you into working for me?” he asked, shoulders relaxing again.

Q gave a thin smile.  “I’ll think about it,” he said, reflexively reaching for the tea and taking a sip.

“That’s the best I can ask for,” Janus replied with a slight smirk before taking a sip of coffee. 

_Bzzz. Bzzz._

Q jumped at the loud buzzer, and then swallowed when he spotted the blinking red light. “Oh God, are we going to crash?” he blurted out even as Janus frowned, and then stood up, Onatopp obediently following him.

“Most likely an obstruction on the tracks.” Janus paused by Q’s two guards, and then said, “Prepare him for travel, knock him out if he puts up a hint of a fuss,” he ordered before turning to Ourumov.  “Keep an eye on Simonova, I don’t trust her alone,” he snapped before leaving the car with Onatopp close behind him.

“How about you just knock me out now and save the trouble later?” Q suggested as his guards hauled him to his feet.  “Of course, getting dragged around works just as well,” he muttered to himself as the guards pushed him in the opposite direction that Janus took. Was it Q’s imagination, or did the train suddenly speed up? 

Q honestly tried not to fight his guards as they got closer to what appeared to be a door with a helicopter symbol on it— _why the hell does Janus have a helicopter on a train? Either serious paranoia or good planning_ —but he started feeling ill the closer the three of them drew towards the marked door.  Hell, it was as though the guard on the right knew he was going to bolt in a moment, his grip was suddenly very loose…

_CLONG!_

The shockwave from the train colliding into something equally solid sent Q and his two escorts to the ground, Q rolling in the nick of time to avoid hitting his head again. Panting, he twisted around to clamber to his feet, making sure his glasses were still on even as he backed away from the two guards, one of which was already starting to sit up and reach for something on the utility belt. Q squeaked in terror and backed away to the other side of the empty car, jiggling at the locked door handle. He could only flatten himself against the door even more as the guard—the one who had been on his right, he realized—pulled out a nasty-looking dagger. His companion was starting to get up as well, moving to all fours before starting to kneel back

“Oh my God… Janus wants me alive!” Q blurted out, trying not to appear as terrified as he felt as the guard got to his knees, twisting the dagger around in his hand to get a better, lethal grip.

Then, before Q could beg further, the guard unexpectedly twisted and drove the knife straight into his companion’s side, twisting it and eliciting a muffled howl from the other man.  Yanking it out, the attacker swiftly stood up and moved out of his companion’s range before kicking the other man back flat onto his back.  Sheer terror drove Q to cover his eyes right as he heard the sickening sound of a blade piercing skin and muscle, followed by a gurgle and then complete and utter silence.

_Oh my God, I’m next. I’m next, I’m next-_

“Please don’t kill me,” he whispered, sinking to the ground as he bowed his head, still refusing to look up even as he heard the _snikt_ of the knife going back into the sheath followed by the dull thud of someone kneeling not too far from where he’d sunk to the ground. It was incredible, the difference between hearing a death over the comms and being present for it. Q kept his eyes squeezed shut as he prayed, numbed from the terror in his system. He prayed that he would live just a little longer and not die because of some crazy-

“Q?”

 _No_.

Q didn’t dare move, even as he registered the heartbreakingly familiar voice. His James.  Was he so close to death itself that he was now hallucinating his James? He kept his eyes shut, hoping that the guard would at least be quick about killing him…

_Oh God, I love you, James._

“Q? It’s me.  It’s me, James.”

On reflex, Q opened his eyes and looked at the only other person in the room.

James Bond, _his_ James, with the short blond hair and breathtakingly familiar ice-blue eyes and worried expression, was kneeling there, not too far from the corpse of the other guard. James was wearing the same uniform as his dead companion, but the knife was now out of sight. When he made eye contact with Q, James leaned forward a little and said in careful voice, “Q? Talk to me, please say anything…”

“How do I know it’s you?” Q demanded, flattening against the door when James moved.

James paused. “Your name is Alexander Winfield. You have a calico cat named Missy who either hates or loves me depending on the day, you’re one of the youngest Quartermasters our MI6 has seen, and the first thing you ever asked me was ‘What do you see’, when sitting in front of Turner’s _Fighting Temeraire_ in Room Forty-two of the National Art Gallery in London,” he said carefully, watching Q carefully, who was struggling to process James’s appearance in this parallel world, where technically he didn’t _exist_.

Then again, neither did Q.

Q couldn’t help it.  “Where the _fuck_ have you been?” he blurted, still shaking a little from the terror, struggling to get his breathing under control even as James stood up and carefully approached him. 

“Short version is that I’ve been looking for you.  Long story is a bit complicated and we don’t have time to quibble over details,” James said, offering a hand to help Q up, which Q accepted. Pulling Q into a tight embrace, he whispered, “We need to get off this train now.  Janus set a bomb for three minutes and we need to get the fuck off before the train explodes.”

Q ignored him, pulling back before reaching up for a demanding kiss, to reassure himself that James was actually there.  He didn’t even realize he was on the verge of tears until he heard James making soothing, nonsensical sounds in his ear while brushing the tears away with his thumb.  “Seriously, Q, we need to get off the train,” he murmured a second later, gently kissing the tear streaks on Q’s face.  “Shh, shh, it’s okay love, come on, we can talk about this once we’re away from the bomb,” he murmured, holding Q close and running a soothing hand through Q’s hair.

“How do you know there’s a bomb?” Q asked, twisting to look at his lover.

James raised an eyebrow.  “I helped set it. Three minutes.  The helicopter’s departure will set the timer.  Which is another reason why we should go now, before Janus discovers that I’m not on his side,” he said, kissing Q once more before tugging him. “Come on.”

Q swallowed at the thought of getting onto the helicopter, and followed James out of the car. “Is it just you?” he asked as the two of them headed down a hall that led to a service exit, James leaning over to grasp his upper arm to hurry Q along.

“No, double-oh nine is here as well, she has the car that’ll get us out of here,” James said, his hand tightening on Q’s arm before he kicked the service door open. “Go, and _run_.”

Q obeyed, pausing long enough to make sure that James followed him off the train. “What now?” he whispered even as James pushed him further towards the grassy hill that lined the track a ways. Glancing near the front, Q’s eyes widened when he saw a tank barely visible near what used to be the front of the train.  _Christ, Janus was serious about Bond and the tank._

“We get away from the train, to the city, and then back to the hotel, double-oh nine will met us there,” James said grimly as he fast-walked up the hill, practically pushing Q along since he didn’t move as fast as James wanted him to.

They were halfway up the small hill when the train exploded.


	5. Chapter 5

Q had maybe five seconds to register what happened.

James promptly picked him up by the scruff and pulled him to his feet again. “Let’s go before Janus realizes that I took you, and he _will_ notice sooner rather than later,” James warned as he let Q go, keeping a hand hovering over Q’s back in case he fell.  He caught Q’s sleeve as the quartermaster tried to turn around and added, “We can’t go back for any survivors. We have limited time since I gave double-oh nine a time frame in which to expect us.”

“But-”

“Q, this is a parallel version of me, remember?” James said, sounding oddly calm given the circumstances. “Or at least I assume there’s a parallel me, since Janus was seething when he boarded the train about how impossible it was to kill MI6 agents. Which in of itself should tell you if the other fellow survived the blast,” he said, turning Q around and herding him forward again.

Q nodded and pressed forward, resisting the urge to look back at the smoking train. “There’s still a small problem,” he muttered as they approached the country road that ran parallel to the tracks, curving at the bridge to Q’s right where the tank had apparently lain in wait for the train. 

“Tell me about it in the car once we don’t have any eavesdroppers,” James murmured as a black car appeared and approached them from the left.  His grip tightened on Q’s shoulder until the license plates appeared, and then he relaxed.  As soon as the car slowed to a stop, James leaned over and pulled the closest back door open to stuff Q inside.  As Q straightened himself out in the backseat, slightly indignant at the rough treatment as James slid into the passenger seat.  “Just keep going straight before looping back to St. Petersburg,” he said to 009, who doffed her cap with a smirk before accelerating the car. 

As they turned onto the bridge, Q peered out his window, and found to his relief that there were two figures on the embankment, one man and one woman.  He froze when he saw that the man—had to be Bond—had turned and was now watching their car leave back towards the city. Shuddering, he leaned back in his seat and put the safety belt on while James also leaned back in his seat.  “He’s alive, you were right,” he said finally, catching James’s attention.

“He may or may not come after us, I’m still wearing Janus’s colors,” James said, shrugging with a shoulder before he started working on the buckles of the chest plate.

“Let’s hope he chooses _not_ to, I don’t think St. Petersburg would survive if the two of you fought,” 009 replied dryly. “I mean, I’m still trying to figure out how to keep the two of you apart.”

“Call him ‘James’,” Q said, pointing to the blond agent in the passenger seat, “and call the dark-haired one ‘Bond’.  That’s what I’ve been doing, anyway,” he said, shrugging a shoulder as 009 took the turn back towards the city.

She huffed impatiently.  “I wonder if the egos are the same or not, given that we’ve already determined that you can’t easily kill either.”  Shaking her head, she looked at Q through the rearview mirror.  “Good to see that you’re alive, sir. R panicked when you spontaneously disappeared, it took him and your staff about thirty minutes to realize that you’d legitimately disappeared and weren’t pulling a prank on them.”

“Thirty- I had a gun to my head within thirty minutes of my arrival here,” Q replied crossly, folding his arms in front of his chest.  “Then I was working within forty,” he said after a moment, remembering how he’d probably failed in keeping up the image of a low-level programmer. “And Janus is going to come after me, I threw a wrench into his world domination plans by locking his programmer out of his computer.”

“And the big deal is?” James prompted.

“That programmer had control of a Russian satellite that the Russians lost and Janus wants to use. I locked the programmer out so that he can’t use the satellite,” Q said, cringing when he remembered that Janus had evidently found his MI6 ID card. “Bond thinks Janus is going to use it as revenge.”

“Revenge against England,” James clarified in a grim voice.  “Financial meltdown. The destruction of England’s economy will take the world economy down with it, leaving Janus with a country’s wealth in his hands.  If he plays his cards right, he could even secure international control with the promise of financial reconstruction.”

 _Oh, shit_. “And he won’t be so nice if and when he catches up to me,” Q said nervously.  “Hell, I don’t even know where the satellite command center is…”

“Cuba. The plan was to put you on the chopper, which would then go to a privately-owned airfield that would have a plane fueled and ready to go,” James said, glancing back at Q.  “You would have hated it. I had sedatives on hand in case I couldn’t rescue you in time.”

Q nodded. “We have to tell Bond, just so he can finish the mission,” he said, meeting James’s blue eyes in the rearview mirror. “It’s bad enough that I probably mucked it up enough just by arriving, but once I fix this-”

“We are _not_ turning back around to get him. Our orders were to find you, retrieve you, and bring you back home,” James replied firmly, looking away to face forward.  “No side trips, M threatened to sideline us indefinitely until an absolute emergency forced his hand if we did any side trips.”

“How the hell are we going to get back in the first place? I’ve been here for over twenty-four hours and I still have no idea how to get back,” Q snapped, bristling in the backseat from James’s firm refusal.

“We go back the way we came.  It took us several of your staff members to discover that the portal you went through on accident was actually like a door; if we dropped down a rope or a ladder, then the staff member could climb back up.  M has no idea how it happened, and everyone who goes through it is required to see O’Reilly immediately in case of side-effects that may or may not happen,” 009 replied cheerfully as they entered the city.

Q gaped at her. “ _You used my staff to experiment with something dangerous?_ ” he nearly shouted, both agents flinching at the unexpected volume.

“For what it’s worth, we only worked with the volunteers, of which there was a sizeable amount,” 009 offered in a small voice, looking guilty when she glanced at Q through the rearview mirror. “As far as O’Reilly is aware of, they’re okay…”

“No one was coerced,” James said before Q could ask as the car pulled up to the hotel entrance, a different one than Q had arrived to that one night (he really had no idea what the date was now, especially since he had no idea how long he’d been knocked out). James got out of the car before 009 had even stopped the vehicle, glancing around before opening Q’s door and helping him out. Q turned as James looked in and said, “We’ll meet with you inside the hotel.”

“Yours or mine?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yours. Don’t be late,” he said before closing the door and joining Q.  Squeezing Q’s hand, he said, “Duck your head and I’ll guide you through the lobby.  I’d rather people didn’t see you and make it easy for Bond or Janus to find you.”

Q silently nodded before ducking his head, stumbling slightly when James pulled him against his side and held him close.  He focused on keeping one foot in front of the other as the two of them crossed the marble-floored lobby, a mix of Russian and French meeting his ears. James kept a brisk pace as he steered Q towards the lifts, his body flexing against Q’s cheek as he glanced around as though to assess the current threat level.  It wasn’t until the lift doors closed that he let Q go.

Q took a step back, but then started to reach for James.  He let out a small noise of protest when James gently caught his wrists and said, “Not yet, love, I’m sorry.  Wait until we’re in the room.”

Q made a face. “In double-oh nine’s room?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as the lift stopped on the eighth floor.

“Technically mine. She and I both registered two different rooms, but we switched to deter potential attackers.  I stay in hers, she stays in mine, but we usually refer to our original rooms when determining a meeting place.  The concierge thinks that I’m cheating on my wife with double-oh nine,” James said, kissing the inside of Q’s wrist as he smirked at Q’s disgruntled expression.  He then nudged Q off the lift, keeping close to Q’s side.

“I would certainly hope you two were _not_ going the entire way to complete that deception,” Q said icily as they walked down the hall to one of the last doors, scowling at James. The other man ignored him, leaning forward to unlock the door before guiding Q inside. As James closed the door behind them, Q turned around and said,  “I would hate to-”

_Thump!_

Q let out a small yelp of surprise as James reached for him, spun him slightly, and then pinned him against the door, his yelp disappearing into a muffled moan as he caught James’s seeking mouth with his own.  His hands scrabbled for James’s, which were tugging ineffectively at his trousers.  Pulling back and resting his head against the door, he whispered in a breathy voice, “James, if double-oh nine catches us here…”

“She won’t, she knows what I went through to get you back, she won’t return for a while,” James whispered harshly before returning his ministrations on Q’s neck, eliciting another moan from Q. 

Dragging his fingers across James’s scalp, Q leaned back as he felt James slowly moving down his neck and to his chest while scarred fingers deftly unbuttoned the collar. Swallowing thickly as he felt James mouthing at exposed skin while settling his hands on Q’s hips, Q whispered, “Then not against the door, I’ve had my head hit several times on this bloody trip and I will not stand for it _again_.”

To his great dismay, James abruptly stopped, stepping away even as Q whimpered in disappointment.  “Let me see,” he ordered softly, tilting Q’s head up with one hand as he carefully settled the other hand on the side of Q’s face.  Ignoring Q’s whine of irritation at having been left wanting, he studied Q, who felt as though those blue eyes were piercing to his soul. After a moment, he said, “It doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but until we’re sure, we won’t do anything strenuous.”

Q stared at him. “If you fucking _dare_ …” he began.

“I said ‘strenuous’. There’s plenty of things to do that don’t fall under that category,” James said, smirking as he wrapped his arms around Q’s waist.  “We’ll rest, rendezvous with double-oh nine, and then get out of here.”

Q sighed, resting his hands on James’s shoulders.  “I know that you want to get going, but we can’t leave the MI6 here floundering with no way to stop Janus.  I don’t know how good Janus’s programmer is, but it’s only a matter of time before he gets past my coding.  We may have bought time for Bond, but that’s also time for Janus to get his system back. And I think we both know very well how persistent Janus can be if he wants something,” he said, raising an eyebrow when James scowled.

“M ordered that I take you straight home,” James repeated, frowning.

Q raised his chin in defiance. “I am also an MI6 administrator, and I am overriding M’s orders. I’m sure he’ll see reason once we explain the dangers of abandoning MI6 here,” he said as James rested his forehead against Q’s. He hesitated, and then asked softly, “Please James?”

James was quiet for a moment.  “Explain to me exactly how you plan to help him,” he said finally, looking up to make eye contact with Q.

“I’ll tell him, or the woman he’s with if she’s a programmer, how to unlock the computer that has the controls to the satellite,” Q explained patiently. “Simonova, I think her name is.”

“She used to be in charge of the satellite before Janus stole it, she’ll be your best bet,” James said, clearly unhappy with the idea even as he sighed in defeat, shoulders sagging as he pulled away. “Fine, we’ll meet but only on my terms and if double-oh nine is present at the time.  She can keep an eye on you and not appear threatening.”

Q slowly released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  “Thank you, James.  Thank you,” he whispered before leaning forward to gently kiss James. He held James for another moment before he grinned and added; “Now I believe we were in the middle of something?”

James grinned as he stepped back.  “Yes, I believe we were,” he said before promptly scooping Q up, grinning at the muffled squeal.

Q looped an arm around James’s neck and kissed him as James took him into the adjoining bedroom.


	6. Chapter 6

Q awoke to someone nudging his side in the darkness.

“James, I swear I’m all right and not falling unconscious,” he growled, swatting away the fingers prodding his ribs before he scooted forward and buried his head under the hotel pillow.  He groaned when he felt familiar, scarred skin brush against his own exposed back, and muttered, “That’s not fair on so many levels…”

“Shhh. I’m sorry, but I’m not making sure you didn’t fall unconscious,” James murmured, the familiar voice rumbling comfortingly in Q’s ear.  He nuzzled the back of Q’s neck before dipping between the shoulder blades, kissing the skin before leaning forward again.  “Bond’s found us.  Double-oh nine says it’s only a matter of hours before he finds us here,” he whispered, a hand gently stroking Q’s back before he leaned away.

Cold panic shot through Q’s gut, and he abruptly jerked up and twisted around to stare at James, whom he could barely see against the white edge of light coming through the closed door.  “How did he find us?” he blurted out, fumbling for his glasses in the dark.

“He’s me. He found the hotel, questioned the concierge who identified double-oh nine as my ‘frequent female companion’, and proceeded to seduce her. She bought us at least an hour,” James said, turning the bedroom light on without warning. 

Q scowled and ducked underneath the pillows at the sudden harsh light, grumbling when he felt James’s familiar hands at his waist.  He squawked a second later when James abruptly pulled him out from underneath the pillow. “What the-”

“That means you have to get ready to go, double-oh nine is taking you to the tunnels where the way back to our MI6 is,” James said in a soothing tone as he leaned forward to kiss between Q’s shoulder blades. “I’ll keep Bond distracted, you both have two hours tops to deliver the information to the girl and get back to headquarters. M is waiting for all three of us,” he said, taking the pillow away before Q could dive back to hide from the light.

“Where is she? Simonova?” Q asked as he reluctantly looked around the bed for his clothes. He turned in time for James to throw first his shirt and then his cardigan right at his face. “Thank you,” he muttered, the cloth muffling his words even more.

“Simonova is apparently upstairs in a separate room waiting for Bond, or at least that’s what double-oh nine said.  She still needs to get dressed, so hurry,” James said, tossing Q his trousers right as Q put his glasses on.

“Wait, what do you mean she still needs to get dressed?” Q asked as he fumbled with his clothing before he just rolled out of bed and started to put his pants on, even as James finished putting on his clothes.

“She had to distract him somehow, and it’s only a matter of time before Simonova realizes that something is wrong and goes looking for him,” James replied, stepping around the bed to help Q get his shirt on. Handing Q his trousers, James added, “Double-oh nine had to improvise anyway with the hotel towels, so he may have gotten away sooner.” He turned as they both heard the bedroom door opened, but Q saw him relax a moment later. “Double-oh nine. Make sure he speaks with Simonova, and then get the hell out of here.  Two hours is all I can guarantee.”

“Try not to kill him, he still has to go after Janus,” 009 said, casually leaning against the doorframe in a beige dressing gown that was definitely _not_ hers.  Ignoring Q’s stunned expression, she said, “Watch out for the little knife in the right side sheath, he nearly sliced me in the ribs with it when I tried to jump him with the silk scarf I took out of his satchel.”

“Silk? Doesn’t that slide loose easily?” James asked, moving slightly to stand in front of Q as he hunted for his belt.

009 shrugged. “I had to work with what I had. Double-oh four says that the knot will stick if you tie it the right way,” she said, glancing down at herself as she swished the fabric of the dressing gown.  “And even if the knot doesn’t hold, I got a nice dressing gown out of it too,” she said, grinning as she lifted a shoulder and examined the fabric.

“Your husband won’t like that,” James warned as Q located his belt underneath the bed and hurriedly put it on as he located his socks near the only chair in the room.

“Well, I didn’t say I was going to _keep_ it,” 009 said, making a face as she stepped aside.  “All right, out of here both of you.  I need to get changed so I can get our illustrious quartermaster to safety,” she said, gesturing for the two men to leave. She glanced at James as he passed her, and said, “Be careful.”

James didn’t acknowledge her, simply tugged on Q’s arm to lead the other man out of the room.  Q clutched his socks and spared 009 one glance before she closed the door.  Then he turned to James, who was already pulling on his jacket. He hesitated, and then set the socks down before approaching James.  Placing his hands on the back of James’s shoulders, he pulled the agent close into a slight embrace.  “Is there any other way we can do this without confrontation?” he whispered, brushing his nose lightly against James’s nape.

He closed his eyes as James slumped his shoulders to let Q’s hands fall, making it easier for the agent to reach back and pull Q’s hands around his waist. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.  Then he said, “Q, Bond will follow us to get you back.  He wants you, Janus wants you, and I’ll go to hell before I let either of them get to you.  We can’t let either of them know where the entrance to our MI6 is.  M will the least of our worries if either of them get through to our MI6.  I won’t kill Bond, I’ll just distract him long enough for you to get through to Simonova and then escape.  Understand?”

“You won’t kill him, but he will most likely try to kill you,” Q pointed out, resting his forehead against James’s back.  

James gently squeezed his hands.  “I fell off a train once after Eve shot me, and still came back, remember?” he quipped, and Q tried unsuccessfully to stifle a snort.  “I think I can handle whatever this Bond can deal out.” He gently unwound Q’s arms, but turned around in the space to maintain the loose embrace.  Q looked up at him, and sighed when James added, “I have the Walther with the palm print recognition, and personally I want to see the look on his face if he disarms me and tries to shoot me with it. But that’s just a wish, I’ll be careful to not let that actually happen. And when we get back home, I’ll feed you and then we can have as much sex as we can to make up for me holding back tonight once O’Reilly clears you of any risk for concussion.  Deal?”

Q grinned despite himself, and then pulled James back down, pressing his lips against James’s only to squeak when James cupped the back of his neck to tilt Q’s head back for a better angle. He moaned softly when James deepened the kiss, somehow holding back a whimper when James pulled away. “Don’t keep me waiting,” Q whispered before letting James go, watching mournfully as James picked up the Walther and left the hotel room. 

Hoping that he wouldn’t have to step into that fight to keep the two of them from tearing the city down as 009 had predicted earlier, Q wandered over to a nearby armchair, slowly putting on his socks as he waited for 009 to finish. At the sound of the bedroom door opening, he looked up to find 009 dressed in a black jumpsuit that he knew had armored padding; he’d designed the uniform himself.  “Shall we go find Simonova?” she asked tiredly, tying her hair back into a loose ponytail.

“Do you know where to start looking for her?” Q asked, slipping his shoes on as 009 tossed him a jacket.

“Honestly, I was going to cut to the chase and have the concierge call her down, I don’t want to risk wandering around the hotel with Bond on the loose and a potentially furious crime lord,” 009 replied casually.  “That way, we’re in the lobby when she comes, and we can just _go_ when you finish telling her what you want to tell her,” she added over her shoulder as she stepped outside the hotel room, hand hovering over the light switch.

Q took the offered jacket and slipped it on, keeping close to her as they left the room, the door snapping closed behind him.  “How far is the entrance from here?” he asked quietly as they walked towards the lifts.

“Close enough for me to risk walking you there, but far enough that James is still nervous about not using a car,” 009 replied briskly, keeping close to Q’s side even as she pressed the button for the lifts.  She glanced down at him and asked, “One thing, if you don’t mind?”

Q frowned. “Oh? And what is that?” he asked patiently.

“No heroics. You let James and me do our jobs, but you focus on getting back to MI6,” she said, raising a hand when Q opened his mouth to protest.  “No, listen. You are an administrator, the _head_ of Q-Branch. One of the top MI6 officials. You _must_ get back to MI6, regardless of what happens to us.  We know our duties, what they entail, and that we cannot allow personal relationships to interfere,” she said, raising an eyebrow even as Q remembered that James wasn’t the only Double-O with personal ties back home.  “That means _no jumping into fights._ ”

Q genuinely wanted to protest—he could take care of himself very well—but something in 009’s eyes gave him reason to pause.  Gritting his teeth, he turned back just as the lift arrived.  “Fine,” he said after a moment when the doors opened. “But for God’s sake, don’t be stupid either.”

009 grinned, and he knew he’d gotten through to her.

He remained silent on the way back down to the ground floor, wondering how he could circumvent 009’s order _only_ in the case of an emergency.  He didn’t want Simonova to suffer consequences for getting dragged into something she (and Q for that matter) barely understood. Not to mention that he had no idea what Janus had in mind either; he doubted that Janus would take the escape lightly.

As soon as the lift doors opened, Q stepped forward even as 009 placed a hand around his neck to guide him forward. They made it two steps towards the lobby when 009 abruptly grabbed him and pulled him to the side and out of sight of the main lobby. Whimpering softly in pain, Q jerked his neck free and leaned forward to peer around the corner, curious as to what could have startled 009 so badly.

His blood ran cold at the sight of Xenia Onatopp standing in the middle of the lobby, Janus’s men prowling among still bodies as Onatopp held a gun to Simonova, whose hands were tied behind her back.  Onatopp wasn’t even paying attention to the other woman, instead focusing on the concierge who spoke in rapid Russian while gesturing to the registry book. It didn’t take much of Q’s imagination to guess at whom the man locating for Onatopp.

_Well, this just got unnecessarily complicated._


	7. Chapter 7

Q unconsciously started to move forward.

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ , I _just_ said ‘No heroics’,” 009 growled, grasping his shoulder. She leaned past Q to glance around the corner, swore softly, and then retreated back to safety.  “All right then, new plan.  One that does not involve someone getting killed.  Maimed, I can do, but no one gets killed tonight.”

“Including Onatopp?” Q asked, frowning when he turned to glance at her.

“If we kill her, accident or not, whom do you think her guards are going to shoot first? I can tell you right now that it won’t be Simonova,” 009 said grimly before pulling her gun out and checking the chamber.  “Count your blessings that I haven’t had to use this yet, or we’d be quickly up a creek,” she muttered as she reset the gun. “Not to mention that we don’t know where Janus is.”  She looked down at Q, frowned, and then asked, “Do you even know what he looks like?”

Q frowned as he turned to stare at her.  “Yeah, don’t you?”

“No, James wouldn’t let me accompany him when he went to retrieve you,” 009 said, shrugging with a shoulder.  Nodding to the corridor, she asked, “Do you think you could _check_ and see if Janus is there or not?”

“He isn’t, I didn’t see him in that split second before you pulled me back,” Q whispered back, realizing that he and James were really the only two out of the three of them who saw Janus. Had James suspected that this was a parallel universe and thought to keep 009 separate from Janus so she could not tell later? Q suspected that it was less that James didn’t trust her and more that he wanted to minimize the risk of someone else finding out back home.

At least when she found out, if at all, it would be less on Q’s head and more on James’s. Same thing went for if Janus’s parallel found out also.

“Okay, if Janus isn’t here, then where the hell could he be going?” 009 asked testily as she tilted her head as though listening carefully.

“Cuba,” Q said, remembering James’s words from before.  “He’ll feel threatened once he realizes that I, along with one of his own guards, are missing.  The guard could be a MI6 spy who could tell Bond where to find the missing satellite. When threatened, people tend to rush to the defense of the object or person most precious to them. Since Janus needs that satellite to get his revenge, he’ll head to Cuba to make sure that Bond can’t get to it,” he explained before moving into a crouching position so he could be ready to move at a moment’s notice.

“What does Janus need a satellite for?” 009 gently pressed as Q leaned around the corner to reassess the situation.  Onatopp now held the concierge by the collar, and Q wondered if either James or Bond had paid the concierge to lie.  He bet it was Bond, given the ease that Q had found him at the start of all this madness.  He jumped when 009 tugged impatiently on his cardigan.  “What does Janus need a satellite for?”

“Hell if I know,” Q lied as he turned back to look around again.  “I’m still figuring out how the Russians lost it in the first place.”

He managed to stifle another yelp when 009 gripped his shoulder and pulled him back. “Do I need to remind you that I have three people who try to lie to me on a semi-daily basis, and it’s helped with catching others at it?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“It’s not four people?” Q said, trying to derail 009’s line of interrogation.

She narrowed her eyes. “Person number four knows better than to lie to me,” she replied coolly as her grip tightened on Q’s collar.

“It’s not information that you need to know in order to deal with Onatopp, especially since Janus is not here.  Besides, James can explain it better,” Q said, shrugging his collar out of 009’s grip. He held his breath, and when he only heard sharp Russian, he whispered, “Let’s fix this problem first, shall we?” Glancing at 009, he said, “My idea is to distract Onatopp while you sneak around back to attack from behind.  I’ll stand near Simonova so that she won’t get hit in the crossfire. Onatopp won’t attack me since I locked her programmer out of his system, and she needs me in order to get back in.  She knows that.”

009 looked uncomfortable at the thought before shaking her head.  “You are an MI6 executive. I can’t let you just run out there on a half-guarantee that you _won’t_ get shot,” she said, scowling.  “And that’s a generous estimate…”

“Double-oh nine, I’m asking you to trust me on this,” Q said, framing her face between his hands so that she had no choice but to focus on him. When she narrowed her eyes, he said, “I know you don’t trust me off the bat because of what I said about Janus, but I need you to do this for me.  Out of the three of us, I have the best picture of the situation. Evidently, we all need to be on the same page in order for this plan to work.  You have a gun, I do not. If you have to shoot someone to rectify a stupid mistake of mine, I trust your judgment.”

Then, before she could protest further, he stepped out of her reach and promptly moved into the sight of the lobby, swallowing nervously when several guns turned towards him and Onatopp looked up from where she was shaking the concierge. “I, um, heard you were looking for me?” he guessed, aware that she could have easily been looking for Bond.

She narrowed her eyes before dropping the concierge.  Q tried not to panic as she pulled her own gun out, but relaxed infinitesimally when she didn’t pull the hammer back.  “Where’s Bond?” she demanded in a cool tone.

 _Good question_. “Presumably on his way to Cuba,” Q lied, noting Simonova stiffen slightly.  Moving to stay out of the way of Onatopp’s firing range, he said, “He, ah, had a convincing argument to hand over the access codes.  Although honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t see him leaving.” Stopping in front of Simonova, he added, “He didn’t exactly need a programmer to get in.”

For a moment, Onatopp didn’t say anything.  Then she said, “Unlucky for you then, that Janus doesn’t leave witnesses behind.”

 _Well, shit_.

Q dove for the ground right as several guns went off; Onatopp screamed briefly when 009’s bullet hit her shoulder, and several of the men turned their attention to the armed threat nearby.  One man stumbled backwards when Onatopp’s wayward bullet hit him in the shoulder, and Q reached around Simonova to undo her binds.  “Where’s Bond?” he whispered quickly as he pulled her to the side to avoid another bullet.

“Went after the guard that took you. I don’t know where they could have gone,” Simonova said, moving as soon as Q freed her.  “Let’s go.”

Wishing he had a gun, Q forced her to go first as they ran towards the lifts. Pressing the button, he joined her off to the side of the hall, behind the columns as they waited for the lift to get there.  He glanced at her, and she nodded once in acknowledgement before he turned back and saw the numbers ticking down to the ground floor. Praying that they could pull this off, he started running the moment he heard the faint _ding_ of the lift arriving.

“Hit a button!” Simonova snapped as soon as she entered. Q reflexively pressed a floor at random before pressing the button to close the doors.  The two of them had to duck as gunfire peppered the car, but then the doors closed, dulling the thuds of bullets hitting the metal surface.

Q didn’t breathe until the lift started moving again. He noticed that he’d pressed the button for the seventh floor, and then hit one for the tenth, the highest floor. “They’ll make a note of the first floor this lift stops at, and then we have a little cushion room for when they realize that we’re not getting off at that floor,” he explained tiredly as he slumped against the wall in exhaustion.

“Won’t they meet us at the seventh floor?” Simonova asked, frowning.

Q shook his head.  “That would involve splitting up, and Onatopp doesn’t have the necessary manpower for that. Not with Tess giving her hell and Bond on the loose,” he said, bowing his head to better catch his breath.

“Tess…that’s her name?” Simonova asked, sliding down on the opposite side of the lift.

Q nodded. “She was delaying him from coming after the ‘guard’ who rescued me,” he said, putting air quotes around the word. “That guard, he’s my friend and coworker, so I’m hoping that he won’t get killed.”

“And the access codes?”

“I swear that I will give you the codes to unlock Janus’s computers once I find my ticket home,” Q said, thinking of James.  Who most likely was on the verge of tearing St. Petersburg apart if he hadn’t already. “All I did was lock Janus’s programmer out of his own system, I apologize if that created problems for you.”

“It kept us from tracking down where Janus was going,” Simonova said, smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.  “But that is excellent revenge against Boris, I can picture him raging at you now. He always thought he was the best, but I suppose he was wrong,” she said, nodding once towards Q. “Especially if you got the jump on him.”

“Actually, I’m supposed to be in London minding my business right now, so the show’s all yours once I get my escort home,” Q said, tensing when the lift stopped at the seventh floor.  He leaned up and pressed the ‘Doors Close’ button as soon as they started opening, and then only relaxed once the lift doors closed and the lift began moving again. “Did you see where they went?” he asked, and Simonova shook her head.

“I suspect they went up, given that I never saw them downstairs.  He wouldn’t leave me behind, would he?” she asked, turning to Q, who could only shrug.

“I was only with him for less than twenty-four hours before I was kidnapped, so I don’t know,” he said, forcing himself to stand up.  He held out a hand to Simonova, who accepted it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “If anything, I think he’s trying to kill my escort, and I’ll be upset if he dies.  So let’s not let that happen,” he said, smiling innocently before leaving the lift. Simonova kept close behind him.

The hall they entered had rooms, but was unnervingly quiet.  Q scanned the walls for any signs of attacks, but didn’t see anything. Frowning, he kept searching the walls for knife strikes or any open doors or _sounds_ that would indicate movement.

He was perhaps halfway down the hall when he heard Simonova say, “Alex?”

“What is it?” he asked as he turned, surmising that Bond must have told her his name. Simonova was staring pointedly at something on the floor, and Q slowly looked down to where she was staring.

Specifically blood splatters, but blood nonetheless.  Q felt himself grow cold as he followed the darkened trail down the hall, past where he was standing towards a roof service exit. He glanced back down the hall to find the source, and felt the bile rise in his throat when he saw splotches of darkness smeared against the wall near the lift— _ambush_ —and swallowed down his nausea as he took a shaky step back. He knew that James knew the full situation, and would refrain from killing Bond.  Bond, on the other hand, would not extend the same courtesy since he had no reason to.

“They’re on the roof,” Simonova said, passing Q.  She paused, and tugged on his sleeve to get his attention. “We should go if you want to save your friend in time.”

Q mutely nodded before turning to follow her, praying that James wasn’t horribly injured and bleeding out somewhere. Simonova pushed the roof access door open, but Q slipped past her, rushing up the steps.  _Please James, please be all right…_ Heart pounding, he took the rest of the stairs two at a time and then looked wildly around on the rooftop for any sign of the fighters.

It was dusk. The city of St. Petersburg was brilliantly silhouetted against the orange sky, but Q didn’t care. He scanned along the edge of the hotel roof, and felt his heart claw its way into his throat when he saw the two agents.

Bond hadn’t made it out unscathed; his nose was crooked and bloody, but he was still the only one standing.  James, true to form, had an unmarked face but was holding his side even as he backed away from Bond.  Q felt like being sick when he realized that James wasn’t aware that he nearing the edge of the roof, something that became more an issue as Bond pulled his own Walther PPK out, clearly coming in for the kill.  James may have survived from falling from a train, but he fell into water.  There was nothing but hard concrete below; there was no way James would survive that.

_No, no, no, no-_

Q knew that he couldn’t interfere on missions, in fights.  He couldn’t interfere lest he break the agent’s concentration and kill them.

On impulse, he still shouted, _“James!”_

To his surprise, both men froze and looked at him, only James took advantage of the distraction to lunge forward and twist Bond’s wrist, forcing him to drop the gun. Bond shouted something incoherent, and swung forward with a punch to James’s face. James jerked back… and upset his own balance, falling backwards and took Bond with him over the edge, the two men promptly disappearing from sight.

Q felt his world go over with the two of them.


	8. Chapter 8

Q ran without thinking.

“ _James! Jaames!”_ he shouted, heart pounding as he came to an abrupt stop at the roof’s edge, kneeling down and clutching the edge to look over and search desperately for any sign of James. He couldn’t see either agent was clinging to the side of the building and it was growing too dark to see the sidewalk below.  Which, as he knew from experience, didn’t mean anything yet at the same time told him everything.

“Bodies… we need to find the bodies,” he whispered, vaguely aware of Simonova pulling him away from the roof edge.  He tried to fight her, the image of James falling over the edge still burned in his memory, but she held on, refusing to let go even as Q tried to turn and push her away.  Her grip around his waist tightened even as he slowly felt the fight drain out of his limbs. His struggling lessened, but he still felt hollow as Simonova slowly lowered him on the ground.

“We need to get to safety, transfer the codes, and stop Janus.  Then we’ll find your friend, both of them,” Simonova said, letting him go once she felt that he wouldn’t run.  Q remained still on his hands and knees, trying to slow down his breathing to regain control of himself, to do anything but break down in tears. Simonova was quiet for another moment, before she said in a firm voice, “If he were here now, what would James tell you?”

What would James say?  Q could only imagine, there were numerous options he had on record to choose from.  But he also knew that there was only one option that James always focused on.  “To… to keep going with the fucking mission,” he said finally, swallowing back the growing knot in his throat and fighting the constricting sensation in his chest.   _Mission first, mourn later_. “Which means we need to get the codes to Cuba. Somehow,” he said, feeling sick all over again at the thought of a trans-Atlantic flight.

“We should make sure that Janus’s guards are not downstairs, and if they are, we should get either get rid of them or evade them,” Simonova said as she helped Q stand up. She gestured with her head towards the roof access door and said, “We should get going now.”

“Yes, we should.” Q dusted his trousers off before he took several deep breaths, trying to push everything but the mission to the back of his mind.  He’d have to transfer the codes over first, and they couldn’t do that out here. “Do you have a computer somewhere, or will I have to write the programming down?” he asked, turning to face Simonova, who opened her mouth to object.  “I am _not_ flying to Cuba, let me establish that now.  I still have to go back home so that James’s death wasn’t in vain,” he said firmly, holding up a hand to stall her protests.

She hesitated, and then sighed; she must have sensed the edge in Q’s voice that he usually reserved for stubborn agents.  “You’ll have to write it all down, Bond and I had nothing when we arrived here,” she said finally, her voice catching slightly; Q nodded, well aware of the odds stacked against them.  While he hoped that 009 was all right, he knew he couldn’t plan on having her available.

“Which room should we go to? I only know of the one on the seventh floor, apparently there was a second but I don’t know where it is,” he said, turning to Simonova.

“Bond went to one of them, he went with Tess while I got another room for the two of us.  The plan was that he’d rejoin me there once he’d taken care of Tess and James, your rescuer, and brought you back with him,” Simonova said as the two of them walked across the roof towards the access door.  “My room is on the ninth floor, where’s yours?” she asked as Q drew his cardigan closer around himself.

“Seventh. Might be prudent to go to yours, and take the stairs.  While the lift’s faster, we can still get boxed in. At least with the stairs we have a chance of escaping,” he said, carefully approaching the access door and pressed an ear against the keyhole in hopes of determining if there were malevolent parties on the other side. Hearing nothing, he stepped back and shouldered the door open, still moving slowly down the hall.

“Yes, but with the lift, we can close the doors in the event that there’s an ambush on the other side,” Simonova pointed out as Q gestured for her to lower her voice; while he didn’t immediately see anyone, he didn’t want to risk exposure simply because someone got lucky and heard them.

“Yes, but nowhere to run to if we’re getting shot.   _Literally_ nowhere to go,” Q pointed out quietly as they walked down the blood-covered hall.  He did his best not to look at the splatters, instead focusing his attention on the access door that led to the stairs, which was right next to the lift.

“Same goes for the stairs.  No protection there either,” Simonova said, moving to keep pace with Q.

“But at least we’d have forewarning on the stairs,” Q replied, wishing he had a gun on him, or something substantial that he could use as a weapon. If he couldn’t find a gun in the hotel room, then he’d break the leg of a chair or something. “Besides, it’s only one floor, we can manage that,” he said before pushing the door open and heading into the stairwell, Simonova keeping at his side.

“Can I ask you a question?” Simonova asked as they began walking down the stairs.

“Depends on the question,” he replied tiredly, focusing on the next step in front of him.

“Bond. He seemed insistent that we talk because of the programming problem when trying to connect with Janus’s computer,” she said quietly, their footsteps echoing in the stairwell.  She glanced at him, something he only saw out of the corner of his eye.  “How did the two of you meet?”

“I went to him for help,” Q said quietly, making a face at the memory.  “I, uh, heard some of Janus’s men mention him, and thought, ‘enemy of my enemy is my friend’, and I was getting too scared to keep working for Janus,” he said, keeping to the story he’d told Bond just in case.  “They’d been killing people at a steady rate _before_ they stole the satellite, and that was just the selling point for me.  Unfortunately, I hit my head pretty badly on the way, and was a little disoriented when I went looking for Bond.”  He glanced at her and asked, “Why do you ask?”

“Onatopp seemed eager to kill you all right, but she didn’t seem to treat you like she would a former employee of Janus’s, especially a computer programmer who hijacked his former boss’s plan,” Simonova replied, arching an eyebrow at Q.  “Even if you were a witness, we both know she could have captured you. Or Janus could have coaxed you to come back work for him.”  She shook her head and said, “What I’m trying to say that your story doesn’t make sense to me, especially since your rescuer was wearing Janus’s colors yet you _fled_ from the train.”

 _Shit_. “Um, really, _really_ long story behind that, and we kind of don’t have time for it right now,” Q said, silently cursing himself for that oversight. Well, there was a reason why he didn’t do complex undercover work frequently. He breathed a low sigh of relief when they arrived a landing with a large ‘9’ painted on the wall beside the door.  “Where is your room in relation to the lift?” he asked, glancing at her.

“Down the hall, we should be fine,” she whispered back.

Q checked the door window, and found the next hall to be empty.  He glanced at her and whispered, “Key ready?”

Simonova reached into her skirt pocket and produced the key.

“All right, we’re not going to run, but just be ready in case of an ambush,” Q whispered, and she nodded.  He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, and then opened the door.  “Go, I’ll watch your six.”

Simonova slipped out the door, keeping to the side of the hallway.  Q was unnerved to find that like the hall above them, the lights were out, leaving nothing but dark shadows and broken light coming in from the window at the end of the hall. While Q kept an eye on the lift, moving backwards so that his back brushed against Simonova’s, he couldn’t help but feel wary, as though there was an ambush somewhere.  Finally he turned and grasped Simonova’s shoulder, earning a startled gasp from her. “We need to go down another floor, I feel like we’re about to walk into a trap,” he whispered.

“Where to?  The seventh floor?” she whispered back.

“And we’re still taking the stairs,” he said, smiling even when she scowled.  “What’s wrong with taking the stairs two floors?” he whispered, brow furrowing.

“More time for an ambush. I vote we hurry this time and take the lift,” Simonova said before walking past him, slipping him her key. “You watch my back.”

Q blinked before following her.  “All right then,” he said, turning around and walking backwards so he could keep an eye on the hall behind her, turning the key in his hand to turn it into an effective weapon. He heard rather than saw Simonova press the button for the lift, and then frowned when the _ding_ of its arrival came a few seconds later.  “So we’ll want to go to the sevent-” he said, turning around before he clamped his mouth shut when he saw what was inside the lift.

Six men, who were all wearing Janus’s insignia, stood there with guns poised at Q and Simonova.  Q felt his mouth go dry as he took a few steps back, Simonova swallowing and squaring her shoulders even as she too stepped back from the lift doors.  Resisting the urge to remark that it would have been safer to take the bloody stairs, Q gently tugged her back so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder. “Gentlemen, what do you want?” he asked conversationally, stepping in front of Simonova as though to protect her.

“You,” one of the guards replied crisply as another guard stepped forward and promptly reached for Q’s shoulder. Their companions followed, flanking both Q and Simonova.  Pressing the room key into her palm, Q didn’t fight the guards as they dragged him forward; he made a mental note to put on a little weight when he got home, _just_ to keep people from hauling him around by the collar.

Digging his heels into the ground, Q said, “You have to let her go, she had nothing to do with this, I gimmicked the program.”

He gritted his teeth as the guard yanked his arm into an awkward position, enough to cause discomfort but not quite to breaking point.  “You’re not making the rules here,” the guard warned.  “Now shut up or I’ll permanently silence you, you don’t need your fucking mouth to hack.”

“Just let her go, she didn’t do anything!” Q said, struggling to tear himself free of the guard’s grip, only to hiss softly in pain when the guard twisted it even more. He froze when he saw another guard pull a knife out, and struggled to get away from the approaching blade. “No, no, no, please, I’m sorry, I won’t-” he began whispering, horror seeping into his voice as two guards held him, holding him in place as the third one approached with the knife.  A fourth guard reached out and caught Simonova before she could move forward to help.  Q tried to fight, but the terror slowly immobilized his limbs.  “ _Please!_ ”

“Come now, he did say ‘please’.”

_What the fuck?_

Q looked up and down the hall, two guards turning as the one holding Simonova stepped to the side of the hall as though preparing for a firefight.  His jaw dropped a second later when he saw the two figures standing there, the latest plea caught in his throat.

Despite numerous, small lacerations on exposed skin and numerous other visible injuries, both Bond and James looked relatively _alive_.  Annoyed, even, especially on James’s part.  James shrugged with one shoulder and said, “He did say please, which is not usually his style.  Usually he’s swearing at me for some reason or another.  When he’s not doing that, he’s demanding for something.” Looking pointedly at Q, he added, “You would think, with his skinny stature, he could easily slip out of the situation.”

_Are you seriously about to bring our workplace spats into a fucking hostage situation?  And critique my size again?_

The leader evidently reached a similar conclusion. “Kill the girl, take him,” he said, gesturing for Q’s captors to move.  “Even if he told her the codes, he still remembers them himself. We only need one,” he said, stepping back and, perhaps fatally, turned his back to the agents to usher Q onto the lift, where the knife-armed guard held the doors open. It wasn’t until the guards’ grips tightened on his arms that James’s statement finally clicked for Q.

_Slip out and use small size against them. Duh._

Q blamed his trying to stay alive for not thinking of that sooner.

Gritting his teeth, he dug his heels into the ground right before they shoved him onto the lift, and drove a sharp elbow into his captor’s solar plexus. As the guard doubled over from the unexpected blow, Q tried to twist his other arm free only to hear a sharp _crack_ that seemed to reverberate throughout the hall.

All hell broke loose: both agents sprang forward, Bond towards Simonova and James plowing through his first two challengers. Q staggered as his captor kept a knife to his throat and backed away, pain shooting up his arm from his elbow.  He tried to kick back, but the knife’s edge dug closer to his throat.  Hating that he’d been rendered powerless, Q struggled to break free even as he watched a guard rush to help the one holding Simonova while two managed to physically hold James back stepped in front of James.  The one who’d doubled over in pain scrabbled to his feet right and managed to roll into the lift seconds before James fired at him, eliciting a screech of pain.

James’s horror-stricken face was the last thing Q saw before the doors closed.


	9. Chapter 9

His captors didn’t waste any time knocking him out on the way down.

Q regained consciousness a little while later, feeling groggy and sick and wishing that he’d just fucking stayed in bed the day of the archival clean out. He also wished he was still unconscious; he was bundled up in the back of a jeep, wrapped in a blanket that someone used several ropes to tie it tightly around Q’s body, leaving him immobile.  A flash of panic went through his gut when he realized that there were strips of silver duct tape across his mouth, at least three.  Arms pinned and ankles tied, he knew that Janus most likely was about to have him flown out to Cuba.

The steady hum of jet engines within hearing range confirmed this theory. 

Q desperately wished that Janus’s men would knock him out again.

Preferably now.

Cold, fresh night air burned his nose as someone grasped his waist and pulled him out of the back as though he were a limp piece of cargo.  Q swore softly when his head whacked the top of the car as two men righted him into a sitting position, and then tried not to shiver as they left him sitting there on the edge of the trunk.  He heard low Russian nearby, the words barely audible over the thrumming engines of the jet he could barely see out of the corner of his eye.  He could also make out several figures silhouetted against the darkening sky and numerous lights across the tarmac, so he estimated that maybe an hour, two at most, had passed since his capture at the hotel.  Crewmen, wearing bright yellow vests, were moving around the jet as a tall figure broke away from a clump of people.  A hand gesture kept his slimmer shadow from following him, and Q had a very, very sick feeling as to the identity of the man approaching him, coat flaring out behind him.

_No, no, no, you’re supposed to be in Cuba…_

He tried his best pleading expression when Janus stepped into the pool of light from the door lamps.  Janus merely offered a sad smile in response as he tilted Q’s chin forward to better examine his face.  “Out of curiosity, did you at least _consider_ my offer before disappearing with one of my security staff?” he asked patiently, gloved fingers brushing lightly against Q’s cheek.

Q reflexively shied away from the touch, swallowing when Janus merely smiled in amusement. Then, realizing that Janus was still waiting for an answer, he slowly nodded after a moment of hesitation.

“I hope you do realize that while I do not agree with Bond on many things, I appreciate liars about as much as he does,” Janus said quietly, fingers tightening as he forced Q to look up at him.  “Which is to say, _not_ at all.”

Q stared at him, well aware that Janus could see the horror in his eyes at having been caught, and the terror of his situation.  Janus could snap his neck right here, and he’d die with not even a whimper. He closed his eyes as Janus’s fingers settled underneath his jaw, resting delicately on the pulse points. Then he heard a rustling sound, and opened his eyes in time to see Janus kneel so that they were eye-to-eye.  “Now listen,” he whispered even as Q felt his heartbeat increase.  “Unlike Bond, I don’t shoot my assets right away, even if they’ve told a white lie or two.  Happens to the best of us.  All you’re going to do when we arrive to Cuba is unlock the system, and then we can attempt another negotiation. What happens then is all up to you.  Understand?” he asked softly, British accent still clear, sharp and painfully familiar to Q. 

Q made a face, hoping to communicate his displeasure at the inability to verbally respond and that Janus would take the hint.  Janus merely offered a sympathetic smile before he said, “I’m sorry, but until I’m absolutely sure that you won’t scream the second I take the tape off, it stays.”

 _No, no, no_ \- Q made as though to reach for him, but nearly toppled over instead when he jerked forward.  Janus moved in time to catch him and keep him from falling onto the tarmac, gently settling him on the trunk.  Kneeling again, he whispered, “Promise not to scream?”

Q mutely nodded.

Janus hesitated, as though calculating the risk of believing Q.  Then, as though remembering he had men _and_ weapons at his disposal while Q had nothing but his wits at the moment, he leaned forward and placed a hand on Q’s shoulder before he said, “Brace yourself, this is going to hurt a little bit for a few moments.”

 _Trust me, I know_. Q still remembered the one time that someone had gotten lucky (or unlucky, given the aftermath) enough to slip under James’s guard to kidnap Q. They’d gone overboard with the duct tape, making it a pain in the arse for James to pull off later once he’d finished hunting each attacker down.  It hadn’t even been seasoned criminals, just kids out on their first heist and Q happened to be picked at random. 

He stifled a whimper as Janus yanked the tape off, moving his mouth to make sure his lips were still intact. Janus remained kneeling in front of him even as Q slowly exhaled to make sure he could still use his mouth despite the stinging sensation that the tape left behind.  “I thought you were in Cuba,” he blurted out, careful to keep his voice down as to not attract the attention of nearby soldiers.

“And who told you that?  The guard you escaped with?  It helps to check a rumor before confirming it,” Janus replied as he stood up straight again, glancing off to the side at something he couldn’t see.  “Speaking of which, we should get going before we run out of time,” he said, signaling someone Q couldn’t see.  “You’ll stay within my sight at all times on the flight over,” he said, stepping back as two masked guards came forward to haul Q up to his feet, somewhat dragging him along as Janus turned to walk towards the helicopter.

“No… no… if you’re going to take me on that thing, please knock me out first, I can’t handle flying,” Q said, trying to uselessly break free.  The guards’ grips were too strong, fingers curling tighter around Q’s collar the harder Q fought. Janus barked something in harsh Russian at a nearby official, who scrambled away as Onatopp slipped closer, eyes narrowing when she spotted Q.

“Can’t we make him tell us the codes now and then shoot him to be done with it all?” she asked crisply as she kept pace with Janus, careful to never turn her back to Q.

“Waste of time, he won’t talk that easily,” Janus replied calmly as they approached the helicopter, door still open as the two pilots settled into their seats. “Besides, once he realizes that he was nothing but a means to an end for Bond, he might be more inclined to work for us.”

“You’re certainly not winning any points by making me do this,” Q replied through clenched teeth.

“I don’t have to.  Even if Bond were to follow me to Cuba, you will have cracked by then, I’m not too worried,” Janus replied mildly as he lowered his head to listen to something one of his officers said before he gestured to Q’s escort to take Q to the jet.

_Bang!_

Q screeched in surprise as blood sprayed forward, the right guard pitching forward to the tarmac as the left guard pulled Q closer, jamming a pistol underneath Q’s chin.  Janus turned backwards for just a moment before snarling to himself and turning forward again right as Bond stepped out from underneath the waiting jet.  Q stifled an unexpected snort when he saw the pilot notice Bond before scrambling out the cockpit and out the emergency hatch.

_Of course he’d run; he’s sitting on a several-hundred-gallon fuel bomb._

Q twitched nervously when he realized that it if one Bond was here, then the other was definitely around if not already close by.  Bond had already demonstrated his penchant for explosions with the tank (and Q wouldn’t be surprised if Bond had been behind the destruction of the Arkhangelsk facility as detailed in the records Q had perused through early on).  James, Q knew, also had a legendary reputation through MI6 for destroying everything _and_ anything.

Which meant that, no matter which Bond was or wasn’t there, that jet was going to explode.

 _Shit_.

“…and it’s times like this that I _really_ wish you would just _die_ for once,” Janus grumbled, backing away even as Onatopp signaled for someone to bring a car around.

“Well, at least there aren’t two of me running around,” Bond quipped, Q resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the line as the guard began dragging him away while keeping the gun pressed to Q’s jaw.

“Is there?” Janus narrowed his eyes at Bond as though trying to gauge whether it was a trap or a game that Q didn’t understand.  Sighing, Janus said, “The time for negotiation is long over, we finished that on the train. Nothing to be gained by standing here.”  The guard holding Q, at some unseen signal, took a few steps back as Onatopp stepped forward with m ore armed soldiers.  Shaking his head, Janus gestured for Onatopp to move, saying, “Finish him and bring back something he cannot live without once you’re finished so I know he’s dead.” Then he turned as the soldiers moved forward, calmly taking Q’s scruff and hauling him towards the nearby car.  “Prepare a plane at the nearest airfield,” Janus muttered into his communicator before turning to Q’s guard.  “Shoot him if anyone gets close,” he said, nodding to Q.

“ _Сэр!”_ someone shouted.

Janus dodged to the left as James struck from behind, silver flashing in the lights from around them.  He took a few steps back to better assess James, frowning as though reconsidering Bond’s earlier quip, and Q _saw_ the moment in which the thought clicked in Janus’s head.  Even when the Russian glanced at Q, brow furrowing as he no doubt recalled the ‘badly-forged’ MI6 ID card, Q felt sick when the Russian realized _exactly_ whom he had on his hands.

 _“_ Kill Bond, and _don’t let that boy escape!”_ he barked at the nearest soldiers even as he turned back to meet James.

Q promptly turned himself into deadweight, throwing his shoulders down as best as he could as he fell limp.  The guard staggered underneath the unexpected shift in weight, and nearly fell when Q thrashed backwards, using the burrito-like trap to make it difficult for his guard to hold on tight.  He could see Janus’s reinforcements arriving, all unsure of when to fire since both Bonds and Q were too close to either an officer, commander, or one of their own.

Q’s guard suddenly jerked forward, falling forward and placing Q on the bottom of an awkward sprawl that left him trying to wiggle free as someone shot the few tarmac lights, plunging the entire area into darkness.  Silently giving James or Bond a few minutes to blow the jet up to provide light, Q wiggled out from underneath before Simonova helped pull him out the rest of the way.  She used a knife, most likely borrowed from Bond, to cut through the ropes before she unrolled Q out of the blanket, much to the latter’s indignation.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Q swore as soon as he accidentally placed his weight on the injured elbow, creating a series of spasms that left him swearing all over again even as Simonova pulled him to his feet. “Ow, ow, ow-”

“Worry about your injuries later, we need to get to safety,” Simonova said as Q pulled his arm out of his dusty cardigan sleeve and tucked it against his body in a half-hearted attempt to immobilize his arm.  She yelped when one guard made an attempt to stab her, but kicked him in the lower ribs when he tried again. 

“Wait, we can at least find a way to provide a little light for-”

_BOOM!_

The explosion knocked the two of them off their feet, Q swearing with everything James had ever taught him from his Royal Navy days.  Looking wildly around, his stomach twisted when he belatedly realized that the jet was actually intact, and it was the jeep that he’d woken up in that had been destroyed.  _Close enough_.  Clambering to his feet, he knelt slightly to help Simonova back to her feet.  “I need a gun, I think I can get a shot in-”

 _“Get down!_ ”

Q yelped right as gunfire erupted over his head, leaving his ears ringing as he sought frantically for a route out of the mess.  Remembering 009’s words— _No heroics… that means no jumping into fights!_—he pulled Simonova back and took advantage of the darkness to lead her back to the grassy edge of the airfield.  He glanced back to see that Janus was now balancing both 007s, keeping them both with visual range as he tried to edge around James to get to the jet behind the two men.

“If I had a gun… I think I could shoot him from here,” he whispered, lying flat on his stomach next to Simonova as they watched Janus’s security attempt to surround the three combatants, but someone was picking them off; he saw two fall before a third fired, managing a couple shots before he too was hit.  “See… they’re dispersing.  That leaves Janus open for the taking,” he whispered as all but one or two fanned out after the invisible sniper.

“Aren’t you worried that the gunman will come after us?” Simonova asked, frowning as she watched the men disappear out of the ring of light cast from the burning jeep.

“No, because she’s not interested in shooting either of you,” 009 said, sliding smoothly in between the two of them. She elbowed Q before he could yelp in surprise, and then hissed, “Be quiet, they’re a little disoriented right now.” Brushing her bangs aside and getting mud streaks on her skin, she bowed her head for a moment to catch her breath. “We need a fucking miracle, this place has been _swarming_ since we arrived…”

“Give me your gun,” Q muttered back, already reaching for her Walther PPK.

“What? No, why?” 009 snapped, ducking as the nearby guards fired into the night. “Morons…”

“I think I can hit Janus from here,” Q said, elbowing her in the side and catching her off guard, as her attention was elsewhere.

“Dear God, please don’t hit James, that would seal his retirement for sure,” 009 said, nearly reaching for her gun back before thinking better of disturbing Q as he lined up the shot; Bond kept getting into his immediate line of sight while James kept trying to corral Janus in.  If Q missed Janus, he risked hitting James. 

“Of course not, I’m a better shot than Moneypenny,” Q said, gritting his teeth as he rested his bad elbow on the ground in order to steady his aim.  _Fuck, I’m really going to miss all three of them completely or hit one of them._ He swore softly as the three men moved to blows, Janus fighting with all he had since he was cornered by MI6’s best.

_Here goes nothing._

Q held his breath, lined up the shot, waited a moment, and squeezed the trigger.

_Bang!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. Real life and _Fallen Shadow_ 's Chapters 23 and 24 interfered a bit. Last chapter shouldn't take as long.


	10. Chapter 10

“MI6 Quartermaster, huh?”

“Hard to believe, I know.”

James kept his usual calm and disinterested expression when Q turned away from the laptop long enough to make an unintelligible hiss before going back to his work with Simonova.  Bond coughed as though to smother a laugh, but grimaced when 009 ‘accidentally’ tugged too hard on the bandage she was wrapping around his shoulder.  The five of them were in the nearest hotel, with Bond and Simonova preparing to fly out to Cuba and James, 009 and Q preparing to head home to their London.  James glanced at Bond and said, “Be glad it was Q and not my Moneypenny who shot you though, you’d have a scar to go along with that.”

“I’ve faced worst.  I’m glad though he didn’t do much damage beyond a graze, given his injured elbow,” Bond said, nodding to the blue sling that left Q’s arm immobilized.

James nodded, still grateful that Q had emerged relatively unscathed from the fight with Janus at the airfield; the gunshot, while grazing Bond’s shoulder, had been effective in convincing Janus that Q was not worth the effort of capture. James still remembered the jolt of sheer _horror_ when he realized that Janus had figured out Q’s identity and James had known that no matter what promises Janus had offered Q, the Russian had no intention on following through with them now.  Stopping him had become the ultimate priority, and the Russian disappeared in the chaos that followed the arrival of his reinforcements.  Although if Bond were to be believed, Janus knew a lost battle when he saw one, and would regroup in order to win the war.

James knew of someone else back home with a similar mentality.

And he’d be damned if he let that person slip away from the way Janus did to Bond.

“All right, and then that should be it,” Q said, leaning back on his heels as he handed over the memory stick to Simonova, who tucked it away in a pocket. “The kill switch is the same as the activation code except for the last digit, which is a one instead of a zero. It only works once, so once you reactivate the device, then you should think about running,” he said, turning around to glance at Bond.  “And don’t let him near it, especially if he’s considering on bringing the satellite out of the bloody sky.”

“I’m offended, it’s as though you don’t trust me,” Bond said, feigning hurt.

“I’m sorry, but what does your track record with Q-Branch equipment look like?” Q asked, scowling as he twisted to look over his shoulder.

“Nonexistent. I think my Q is more concerned with me field-testing the equipment _inside_ the branch than me actually bringing it back,” Bond said, raising an eyebrow at Q’s panicked expression at the thought.  He glanced at James and asked, “How is your track record?”

“Abysmal. We’ve gotten to the point where I just don’t check in my equipment anymore, since there’s nothing left,” James replied, smirking at Q’s deepening scowl.  He waited until Q had turned back to help Simonova pack up the computer before he glanced to Bond and said, “Since then, I’ve been keeping a few of his nicer gadgets.  Contrary to what he thinks, I don’t destroy _everything_.”

“James, remind me to be out of the office when he finds out,” 009 grumbled quietly as she tied off the bandages.  “You have no idea how much ranting he does when you’re not around.”

“I can only imagine.” James stood up at the same time Bond did, signaling for Q to join him. “M is going to kill both me and double-oh nine for your injury,” he said as Q drifted close enough for James to reach out and pull him closer. Mindful of present company, he refrained from actually doing anything that could be interpreted as more than friendly, but his hand still twitched.

“Mm, I’ll tell him what happened.  It’s his problem if he doesn’t believe me,” Q said, brushing himself off.  He offered his good hand to Bond and said, “It was a pleasure to work with you.  Only because you didn’t kill me right away.”

Bond laughed as he shook Q’s hand.  “I don’t know, I might keep you a little longer given what you did to Janus, locking him out of the system like that.” Looking at James, he grinned before he said, “Mind if I borrow him?”

“Yes.” The reply came out faster than he’d intended and Bond raised an eyebrow before looking at Q thoughtfully, and then back at James.  “His branch needs him,” James said after a moment, attempting to reclaim a few bits of his dignity even as Q coughed, at loss for words for once.

“I suspect they’re not the only ones,” he said, winking knowingly before turning to Simonova, wrapping a hand around her waist.  “We should go soon, pack what we have.  Jack will meet us in Cuba.” He let her go, turning around for something.  “First though, I need-”

 _“Wait!_ ”

Both agents froze, and Simonova took a step back as 009 reached for her gun. Q approached James, who narrowed his eyes as Q pulled back his suit jacket back and began searching around for one of the interior pockets.  It took James a second to realize what he was doing.  “Wait, Q, don’t-”

His protest died when Q pulled out the exploding pen that Bond had mentioned while the four of them had been traveling to the airfield to rescue Q, and James had stolen less than thirty minutes later.  “I don’t think this is yours,” he said, dangling the pen in front of James before passing it back to Bond, who looked impressed.  “I’ll talk to him once we get back,” he said before allowing 009 to usher him to the door and out into the hall. 

James turned to leave as well, but Bond caught his attention with a slight tilt of the head, knowing better than to catch James’s shoulder.  “One more thing.”

James paused in the doorway.  “And that would be?”

“Your quartermaster needs a little work in lying.  He did well at first, but at the same time, he was in a situation that prompted a rapid heartbeat and sweating, signs of lying that could be excused for terror.  The lies started showing, however, once he’d calmed down from panicking about me putting a gun to his head,” Bond said, James barely catching himself reaching for his gun. “He’ll need to work on that, in case of a _real_ situation in which the attacker is not interested in keeping him alive.”

“Duly noted.” He nodded once to Bond before he said, “Good luck in Cuba.”

“Good luck with yours.”

James felt his jaw twitch ever so slightly, but left the room before he could pursue the topic further.  He caught Q’s collar—Q had been hovering right outside the door with an unrepentant 009—and ushered him down the hall, 009 close behind.  “What’s this about lying and it showing once you calmed down?” he asked conversationally as he pressed the button for the lift.

Q scowled. “I said that I worked for Janus and left because too many people were killed.  Bond could have bloody well said something sooner,” he muttered sulkily as the doors opened and they walked in, James pressing the button for the lobby. James resisted the urge to smile or better yet, kiss the pout off the younger man’s face.  But they weren’t safe yet, they were still in the field, and James couldn’t risk his chances of remaining free yet. Shaking his head, Q said, “It was fucking terrifying.” He glanced suspiciously at James. “What the _fuck_ happened after you two fell off the rooftop?”

“We swung into a hotel room, startled the occupants and left a broken window or two. We got out before the husband could reach for his shotgun,” James said, ushering Q out of the lift when the doors opened.

“How did you decide not to kill each other?”

James glanced down at him, blue meeting hazel.  “You and Simonova were in danger.  Getting you both to safety became our priority,” he said simply before placing a hand on Q’s good shoulder and nudging him along.  “No more talking until we get back to our headquarters.”

Q stiffened underneath James’s palm, but otherwise obeyed.

James let 009 take the lead, her quiet, unassuming presence deflecting attention from the three of them.  Q let his hand slide down, but moved closer anyway, discreetly reaching around to place James’s hand around his waist.  It felt _right_ and reassuring to have Q back, and not just because he was the Quartermaster whose disappearance had caused a building-wide crisis; no one could quite figure out how Q could disappear so quickly even when under observation.  R had discovered the portal quite by accident by stumbling into it himself when both James and his longtime friend and brother, Alec Trevelyan, happened to coincidentally look up at that exact moment and see R disappear from sight.

He glanced down at Q for a moment, a thought occurring to him. No, he couldn’t talk about that yet, not with 009 within earshot.

The entrance to the tunnels was just where they’d left it, but James was more concerned with getting back across the dimension.  If that sort of thing existed.  Which, if this little trip was anything to go by, it did, but James knew he’d be doing a lot of blotting out in his mind to pretend this never happened, for the sake of his own sanity if anything. He’d have to handle damage control as soon as possible after they returned to their London, but he prayed that Q had enough sense to keep his mouth shut about the whole episode until they’d both had a chance to get their stories straight.

As much as he hated keeping secrets from Alec, James suspected he’d go to the grave with this one, at the very least to prevent a potential repeat in his universe.

The rope ladder was still in place, but James knew from the briefing prior to his departure that there were at least four agents standing guard to prevent any threats from entering the MI6 archives.  “I’ll go first,” 009 said, pulling out the small rubber ball that R had given her to use as a signal.  She glanced past James and said, “We weren’t followed, were we?”

“No, I checked. Frequently, since someone wasn’t paying attention,” Q said, nudging James in the ribs pointedly before wincing; he’d used his bad elbow.  “This sling is going to take some getting used to…”

“O’Reilly will be able to give you a real cast once we get back,” James said, rubbing Q’s back as they watched 009 toss the ball up.  “Tess, you’ll have to tell them that Q needs-” he abruptly stopped speaking and pulled Q back as someone above _whipped_ the ball back, bouncing off 009’s head and rolling off into the darkness.

 _“All right, which one of you threw that?”_ 009 shouted, grabbing the ladder before James could step forward and hold the rope ladder still.  She scrambled up the ladder, pausing as though to swipe at someone before clambering out of sight, leaving the two men below.

James nearly palmed his forehead when he realized that Q couldn’t exactly climb up the ladder. “If you wrap your arms around my chest or neck, I bet I could carry you up,” he said, turning to Q, who paled at the thought.  “You’re not that heavy to begin with, and hopefully she’ll take the time to mention that you’re injured and will need medical assistance.”

“James… what are we going to do about… you know,” Q said, hesitating on the name. “I mean, double-oh nine _suspects_ something, she’ll be asking about it later.”

“Deny knowing anything and threaten punishment if she brings it up. Blame me if that makes you feel better,” he said, kneeling slightly so that Q could reach around his neck.  “Now hold tight, and wrap your legs around my waist.”

“Are you su-”

“ _Q.”_

“Sorry.”

James gritted his teeth as he felt Q wrap himself around his body, and then hoisted the two of them up.  It was worrying, to be honest, at how light Q felt on his back.  O’Reilly would no doubt draw up a new meal plan for him, especially when taking into account that Q had been trussed up, injured, and overall treated badly in the last couple days.  James had already established before the mission that time moved at the same rate in both dimensions, but the dates were off-kilter. He remained hyperaware of Q clinging to his back like a koala even when his vision returned and he found himself staring at several pairs of familiar boots.

“There now, easy does it,” Alec said, kneeling down and helping James up the rest of the way, blond hair flopping in his eyes as it usually did when it got too long. Q protested slightly when several hands came to assist; R along with Ellen Wilbur, one of the Medical administrators, tried to pry him off James.  Q was having none of it; James could feel that Q had his face buried in James’s shoulders.

“Take Q, he needs to go to Medical for malnutrition and an elbow injury.  Check him over for bruises, he’s been held at gunpoint at least once,” James instructed, holding steady as both Alec and Ellen pried Q off.  “Q, go, I’ll join you anyway in a few minutes.”

He twisted slightly in time to watch Alec successfully pick Q up and try to stabilize him on the ground, catching him when Q nearly stumbled.  Q held Alec’s wrist a second longer than usual, making eye contact as he said, “Thank you,” and then squeezing it lightly before allowing Alec to support him when he stumbled yet again.

Alec glanced back at James with a frown, mouthing, ‘ _Is he all right?_ ’, to which James nodded, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  Q would be all right, whatever experience he’d had with Janus hadn’t permanently scarred the younger man.  Hoisting himself out the rest of the way, James glanced at R, who looked extremely anxious.

“Have a detail on it twenty-four seven.  Have you figured out a way to seal it yet?” he asked, leaning back to catch his breath.

“We’re working on it, trust me on that.  In the meantime, we’re also clearing out this room, M doesn’t want all that sensitive information at risk,” R said, wringing his hands nervously. “In the meantime, we usually have one double-oh and three or four field agents standing guard in six hour shifts.”

James nodded, hoping that Bond would succeed and eliminate Janus, erasing the risk of Janus discovering the way through.  Gesturing to the spot—an innocent black circle in the concrete floor—he said, “I’d suggest either adding another double-oh or two more field agents, it might come in handy.”

With that, he hoisted himself up, rolling his neck and slowly relaxing as he walked away and ignored R’s look of utter horror at the suggestion.

Hopefully, that trip would never happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, _thank you_ so much to everyone who read this story, I deeply appreciate your support and patience. James Bond and all related media belong to Ian Fleming.

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the prompt from the Tumblr blog 'fuckyeahcharacterdevelopment', which reads: Person A gets sent to another universe and meets the parallel of Person B. Except that Person B doesn't seem to know who they are. What happens?


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